THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


THE   WORKS   OF 
WILLIAM   MAKEPEACE   THACKERAY 


CORNHILL    EDITION 
VOLUME    III 


Eoehrns  Statuette  of  Thackeray 


THE  HISTORY  OF 


PENDENNIS 


BY 


WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE   THACKERAY 


WITH  THE  AUTHOR'S  ILLUSTRATIONS 


VOLUME   I 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 
1911 


Copyright,  1904,  by 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


College 

JJLrary 

PR, 


OTE 


PENDENNIS  was  written  between  the  middle  of  1848  and 
the  late  autumn  of  1850.  As  in  the  case  of  VANITY  FAIR, 
its  ending  is  recorded  in  a  letter  from  Thackeray  to 
his  mother: — "having  completed  my  story  this  day, 
and  wrote  Finis,  I  am  very  tired,  weary,  and  solemn  - 
minded." 

The  story  has  a  fuller  personal  history  perhaps  than 
any  other  of  Thackeray's  novels.  Without  straining  the 
point  of  its  autobiographical  character,  (as  has  been 
done,  perhaps,  by  quoting  a  well-known  letter  to  Mrs. 
Brookfield  in  which  he  speaks  of  the  resemblance  between 
Pendennis  and  himself, )  we  at  least  know  that  the  story 
makes  more  use  of  obviously  autobiographical  material 
than  any  other ;  and  it  connects  itself  with  the  places  and 
passages  of  Thackeray's  life  so  closely  that  its  identifica- 
tions have  been  a  favourite  theme  with  every  biographer. 
Clavering  is  confessedly  Ottery  St.  Mary's  in  Devon- 
shire, near  which  Thackeray's  mother  lived  when  he  was 
a  boy.  Pendennis's  and  Warrington's  life  in  the  Tem- 
ple is  locally  reminiscent  of  Thackeray's  life  there,  when 
he  read  law  in  Taprell's  Chambers  on  the  ground  floor 
of  No.  1,  Hare  Court,  pictured  in  the  frontispiece  to 
the  second  volume  in  this  edition.  Persistent  tradition 
has  it  that  the  chambers  on  the  third  floor  of  this  build- 

V 

833194 


ing  were  those  where  he  meant  Pen  and  Warrington  to 
live,  and  that  Hare  Court  is  the  original  of  Lamb  Court. 
The  Oxbridge  passages  derived  similarly  from  Thack- 
eray's experiences  at  Cambridge,  where  his  rooms  in 
Trinity  are  known  still. 

Like  VANITY  FAIR,  PENDENNIS  was  published  by 
Bradbury  and  Evans  in  monthly  numbers,  the  first  in 
November,  1848;  but  the  publication  was  interrupted  in 
September  of  the  next  year  by  Thackeray's  almost  fatal 
illness,  and  not  resumed  until  the  beginning  of  1850. 
From  this,  as  every  reader  of  the  novel  knows,  came  the 
dedication  to  Dr.  Elliotson. 

The  original  numbers,  like  those  of  VANITY  FAIR,  had 
covers  and  title-pages  designed  by  Thackeray;  and  the 
story,  like  that,  was  illustrated  throughout  by  him.  The 
serial  publication  was  finished  in  twenty-four  numbers 
in  December,  1850,  and  the  book  issued  in  two  volumes. 
The  titles  of  both  are  here  reproduced.  The  design  on 
the  monthly  covers  was  identical  with  the  first  of  these, 
and  is  therefore  not  repeated  separately. 

The  portrait  frontispiece  is  from  the  statuette  by  Sir 
Joseph  Edgar  Boehm. 


BY 


M   THACKE1RAY 


BY 


W.M.THACKLRAT. 


TO  DR.  JOHN  ELLIOTSON 

MY  DEAR  DOCTOR, 

Thirteen  months  ago,  when  it  seemed  likely  that 
this  story  had  come  to  a  close,  a  kind  friend  brought  you 
to  my  bedside,  whence,  in  all  probability,  I  never  should 
have  risen  but  for  your  constant  watchfulness  and  skill. 
I  like  to  recall  your  great  goodness  and  kindness  (as  well 
as  many  acts  of  others,  showing  quite  a  surprising  friend- 
ship and  sympathy)  at  that  time,  when  kindness  and 
friendship  were  most  needed  and  welcome. 

And  as  you  would  take  no  other  fee  but  thanks,  let 
me  record  them  here  in  behalf  of  me  and  mine,  and  sub- 
scribe myself, 

Yours  most  sincerely  and  gratefully, 

W.  M.  THACKERAY. 


PREFACE 

IF  this  kind  of  composition,  of  which  the  two  years' 
product  is  now  laid  before  the  public,  fail  in  art,  as  it 
constantly  does  and  must,  it  at  least  has  the  advantage 
of  a  certain  truth  and  honesty,  which  a  work  more  elabo- 
rate might  lose.  In  his  constant  communication  with 
the  reader,  the  writer  is  forced  into  frankness  of  expres- 
sion, and  to  speak  out  his  own  mind  and  feelings  as  they 
urge  him.  Many  a  slip  of  the  pen  and  the  printer,  many 
a  word  spoken  in  haste,  he  sees  and  would  recall  as  he 
looks  over  his  volume.  It  is  a  sort  of  confidential  talk 
between  writer  and  reader,  which  must  often  be  dull, 
must  often  flag.  In  the  course  of  his  volubility,  the  per- 
petual speaker  must  of  necessity  lay  bare  his  own  weak- 
nesses, vanities,  peculiarities.  And  as  we  judge  of  a 
man's  character,  after  long  frequenting  his  society,  not 
by  one  speech,  or  by  one  mood  or  opinion,  or  by  one  day's 
talk,  but  by  the  tenor  of  his  general  bearing  and  conver- 
sation; so  of  a  writer,  who  delivers  himself  up  to  you 
perforce  unreservedly,  you  say,  Is  he  honest?  Does  he 
tell  the  truth  in  the  main?  Does  he  seem  actuated  by  a 
desire  to  find  out  and  speak  it?  Is  he  a  quack,  who  shams 
sentiment,  or  mouths  for  effect?  Does  he  seek  popu- 
larity by  claptraps  or  other  arts?  I  can  no  more  ignore 
good  fortune  than  any  other  chance  which  has  befallen 


xiv  PREFACE 

me.  I  have  found  many  thousands  more  readers  than 
I  ever  looked  for.  I  have  no  right  to  say  to  these,  You 
shall  not  find  fault  with  my  art,  or  fall  asleep  over  my 
pages ;  but  I  ask  you  to  believe  that  this  person  writing 
strives  to  tell  the  truth.  If  there  is  not  that,  there  is 
nothing. 

'  Perhaps  the  lovers  of  "  excitement  "  may  care  to  know, 
that  this  book  began  with  a  very  precise  plan,  which  was 
entirely  put  aside.  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  you  were  to 
have  been  treated,  and  the  writer's  and  the  publisher's 
pocket  benefited,  by  the  recital  of  the  most  active  hor- 
rors. What  more  exciting  than  a  ruffian  (with  many 
admirable  virtues)  in  St.  Giles's,  visited  constantly  by  a 
young  lady  from  Belgravia?  What  more  stirring  than 
the  contrasts  of  society?  the  mixture  of  slang  and  fash- 
ionable language?  the  escapes,  the  battles,  the  murders? 
Nay,  up  to  nine  o'clock  this  very  morning,  my  poor 
friend,  Colonel  Altamont,  was  doomed  to  execution,  and 
the  author  only  relented  when  his  victim  was  actually  at 
the  window. 

The  "  exciting  "  plan  was  laid  aside  (with  a  very  hon- 
ourable forbearance  on  the  part  of  the  publishers),  be- 
cause, on  attempting  it,  I  found  that  I  failed  from  want 
of  experience  of  my  subject;  and  never  having  been 
intimate  with  any  convict  in  my  life,  and  the  manners 
of  ruffians  and  gaol-birds  being  quite  unfamiliar  to  me, 
the  idea  of  entering  into  competition  with  M.  Eugene 
Sue  was  abandoned.  To  describe  a  real  rascal,  you  must 


PREFACE  xv 

make  him  so  horrible  that  he  would  be  too  hideous  to 
show;  and  unless  the  painter  paints  him  fairly,  I  hold 
he  has  no  right  to  show  him  at  all. 

Even  the  gentlemen  of  our  age— this  is  an  attempt  to 
describe  one  of  them,  no  better  nor  worse  than  most  edu- 
cated men— even  these  we  cannot  show  as  they  are,  with 
the  notorious  foibles  and  selfishness  of  their  lives  and 
their  education.  Since  the  author  of  Tom  Jones  was 
buried,  no  writer  of  fiction  among  us  has  been  permitted 
to  depict  to  his  utmost  power  a  MAN.  We  must  drape 
him,  and  give  him  a  certain  conventional  simper.  Soci- 
ety will  not  tolerate  the  Natural  in  our  Art.  Many  ladies 
have  remonstrated  and  subscribers  left  me,  because  in  the 
course  of  the  story,  I  described  a  young  man  resisting 
and  affected  by  temptation.  My  object  was  to  say,  that 
he  had  the  passions  to  feel,  and  the  manliness  and  gener- 
osity to  overcome  them.  You  will  not  hear — it  is  best 
to  know  it — what  moves  in  the  real  world,  what  passes 
in  society,  in  the  clubs,  colleges,  mess-rooms, — what  is 
the  life  and  talk  of  your  sons.  A  little  more  frankness 
than  is  customary  has  been  attempted  in  this  story ;  with 
no  bad  desire  on  the  writer's  part,  it  is  hoped,  and  with 
no  ill  consequence  to  any  reader.  If  truth  is  not  always 
pleasant ;  at  any  rate  truth  is  best,  from  whatever  chair 
— from  those  whence  graver  writers  or  thinkers  argue, 
as  from  that  at  which  the  story-teller  sits  as  he  concludes 
his  labour,  and  bids  his  kind  reader  farewell. 

KENSINGTON,  Nov.  26th,  1850. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

i  SHOWS  How  FIRST  LOVE  MAY  INTERRUPT  BREAKFAST  1 

ii  A  PEDIGREE  AND  OTHER  FAMILY  MATTERS  ....  8 

HI  IN  WHICH  PENDENNIS  APPEARS  AS  A  VERY  YOUNG 

MAN  INDEED     .......     .....  34 

iv  MRS.  HALLER       ............  53 

v  MRS.  HALLER  AT  HOME     .........  66 

vi  CONTAINS  BOTH  LOVE  AND  WAR     ......  87 

vn  IN  WHICH  THE  MAJOR  MAKES  HIS  APPEARANCE  .     .  105 

vni  IN  WHICH  PEN  is  KEPT  WAITING  AT  THE  DOOR, 
WHILE  THE  READER   is   INFORMED   WHO  LITTLE 

LAURA  WAS  .............  117 

ix  IN  WHICH  THE  MAJOR  OPENS  THE  CAMPAIGN  .     .  135 

x  FACING  THE  ENEMY     ..........  146 

xi  NEGOTIATION   .............  155 

XH  IN  WHICH  A  SHOOTING  MATCH  is  PROPOSED     .     .  169 
MII  A  CRISIS     .............. 


XIV    IN    WHICH    MlSS    FOTHERINGAY    MAKES    A    NfiW    EN- 

GAGEMENT      .............       195 

xv  THE  HAPPY  VILLAGE    ..........     207 

xvi  WHICH    CONCLUDES    THE    FIRST    PART    OF    THIS 

HISTORY  ..............     224 

xvii 


xviii  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PACiE 

xvii  ALMA  MATER 250 

xviii  PENDENNIS  OF  BONIFACE 265 

xix  RAKE'S  PROGRESS 286 

xx  FLIGHT  AFTER  DEFEAT    .     .  :i  . 298 

xxi  PRODIGAL'S  RETURN 811 

xxii  NEW  FACES  .     .    '.     .     .     .     .     .'    ....'.     .  825 

xxiii  A  LITTLE  INNOCENT  .     .     .     .     .     .     ...     .  352 

xxiv  CONTAINS  BOTH  LOVE  AND  JEALOUSY  .     .     .     .     .  867 

xxv  A  HOUSE  FULL  OF  VISITORS 382 

xxvi  CONTAINS  SOME  BALL-PRACTISING 404 

xxvii  WHICH  is  BOTH  QUARRELSOME  AND  SENTIMENTAL  418 

xxvin  BABYLON 441 

xxix  THE  KNIGHTS  OF  THE  TEMPLE 459 

xxx  OLD  AND  NEW  ACQUAINTANCES 474 

XXXI    IN  WHICH   THE  PRINTER'S  DfiVIL  COMES  TO  THE 

DOOR     .     .     .     .     .     t     .  ,  .     .     .     .     .     .     .  493 

\.\\n  WHICH  is  PASSED  IN  THE  NEIGHBOURHOOD  OF 

LUDGATE  HILL 513 

XXXIII    IN  WHICH  THE  HlSTORY  STILL  HOVERS  ABOUT 

FLEET-STREET     .     .     .     .     .....     .     .  530 

xxxiv  A  DINNER  IN  THE  Row .     .     .  540 

xxxv  THE  "PALL  MALL  GAZETTE"    .......  557 

xxxvi  WHERE  PEN  APPEARS  IN  TOWN  AND  COUNTRY  .     .  567 
xxxvn  IN  WHICH  THE  SYLPH  REAPPEARS 592 

xxxvra  IN  WHICH  COLONEL  ALTAMONT  APPEARS  AND 

DISAPPEARS  .  605 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


BOEHM'S  STATUETTE  OF  THACKERAY    ....     Frontispiece 

FAC-SIMILES  OF  THE  ORIGINAL  TITLE-PAGES  TO  VOLUMES 

I  AND  II  OF  PENDENNIS ix,  xi 


FACING   PAGE 

CALM  SUMMER  EVENINGS 18 

YOUTH  BETWEEN  PLEASURE  AND  DUTY 60 

THE  CURATE  COME  TO  GRIEF 64 

A  VlEW  FROM  THE  DEAN*S  GARDEN    ........  100 

POOR  PEN    .     . ; 110 

THE  GENERAL'S  SALUTATION  OF  THE  MAJOR 154 

A  CUT  DIRECT 194 

THE  MANAGER  FROM  LONDON 198 

"DOES  ANY  BODY  WANT  MORE?" 218 

THE  CURATE'S  CONFIDANTE 232 

PEN'S  STAIRCASE  1.    A  LITTLE  DINNER  .......  288 

PEN'S  STAIRCASE  2.    A  FEW  LITTLE  BILLS 296 

MASTER  FRANCIS  IN  A  STATE  OF  REVOLT 844 

MR.  PEN  BEGINS  TO  BE  CONSOLED 348 

xix 


xx  LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

FACING  PAGE 

MlROBOLANT  FASCINATES  THE  NATIVES 360 

A  MORNING  VlSIT  AT  TEA-TIME 392 

PEN  PURSUING  HIS  LAW  STUDIES 452 

ARTHUR  MEETS  WITH  AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE      ....  456 

AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE 480 

THE  "PALL  MALL  GAZETTE" 510 

MRS.  BUNGAY  MOLLIFIED 536 

PEN  HEARS  HIMSELF  IN  PRINT 564 

COLONEL  ALTAMONT  REFUSES  TO  MOVE  ON    .     .          .     .  612 


PENDENNIS 


CHAPTER  I 


SHOWS  HOW  FIRST  LOVE  MAY  INTERRUPT   BREAKFAST 

NE  fine  morning  in  the  full  Lon- 
don season,  Major  Ar- 
thur Pendennis  came  over 
from  his  lodgings,  ac- 
cording to  his  custom,  to 
breakfast  at  a  certain 
Club  in  Pall  Mall,  of 
which  he  was  a  chief  or- 
nament. At  a  quarter 
past  ten  the  Major  inva- 
riably made  his  appear- 
ance in  the  best  blacked 
boots  in  all  London,  with 
a  checked  morning  cravat  that  never  was  rumpled  until 
dinner  time,  a  buff  waistcoat  which  bore  the  crown  of  his 
sovereign  on  the  buttons,  and  linen  so  spotless  that  Mr. 
Brummel  himself  asked  the  name  of  his  laundress,  and 
would  probably  have  employed  her  had  not  misfortunes 
compelled  that  great  man  to  fly  the  country.  Penden- 
nis's  coat,  his  white  gloves,  his  whiskers,  his  very  cane, 
were  perfect  of  their  kind  as  specimens  of  the  costume 
of  a  military  man  en  retraite.  At  a  distance,  or  seeing 
his  back  merely,  you  would  have  taken  him  to  be  not 
more  than  thirty  years  old:  it  was  only  by  a  nearer  in- 


2  PENDENNIS 

spection  that  you  saw  the  factitious  nature  of  his  rich 
brown  hair,  and  that  there  were  a  few  crow's-feet  round 
about  the  somewhat  faded  eyes  of  his  handsome  mottled 
face.  His  nose  was  of  the  Wellington  pattern.  His 
hands  and  wristbands  were  beautifully  long  and  white. 
On  the  latter  he  wore  handsome  gold  buttons  given  to 
him  by  his  Royal  Highness  the  Duke  of  York,  and  on 
the  others  more  than  one  elegant  ring,  the  chief  and  lar- 
gest of  them  being  emblazoned  with  the  famous  arms  of 
Pendennis. 

He  always  took  possession  of  the  same  table  in  the 
same  corner  of  the  room,  from  which  nobody  ever  now 

•f 

thought  of  ousting  him.  One  or  two  mad  wags  and 
wild  fellows  had,  in  former  days,  endeavoured  to  de- 
prive him  of  this  place ;  but  there  was  a  quiet  dignity  in 
the  Major's  manner  as  he  took  his  seat  at  the  next  table, 
and  surveyed  the  interlopers,  which  rendered  it  impos- 
sible for  any  man  to  sit  and  breakfast  under  his  eye ;  and 
that  table — by  the  fire,  and  yet  near  the  window— be- 
came his  own.  His  letters  were  laid  out  there  in  expec- 
tation of  his  arrival,  and  many  was  the  young  fellow 
about  town  who  looked  with  wonder  at  the  number  of 
those  notes,  and  at  the  seals  and  franks  which  they  bore. 
If  there  was  any  question  about  etiquette,  society,  who 
was  married  to  whom,  of  what  age  such  and  such  a  duke 
was,  Pendennis  was  the  man  to  whom  every  one  ap- 
pealed. Marchionesses  used  to  drive  up  to  the  Club,  and 
leave  notes  for  him,  or  fetch  him  out.  He  was  perfectly 
affable.  The  young  men  liked  to  walk  with  him  in  the 
Park  or  down  Pall  Mall ;  for  he  touched  his  hat  to  every- 
body, and  every  other  man  he  met  was  a  lord. 

The  Major  sate  down  at  his  accustomed  table  then, 
and  while  the  waiters  went  to  bring  him  his  toast  and 


PENDENNIS  3 

his  hot  newspaper,  he  surveyed  his  letters  through  his 
gold  double  eye-glass,  and  examined  one  pretty  note 
after  another,  and  laid  them  by  in  order.  There  were 
large  solemn  dinner  cards,  suggestive  of  three  courses 
and  heavy  conversation;  there  were  neat  little  confiden- 
tial notes,  conveying  female  entreaties ;  there  was  a  note 
on  thick  official  paper  from  the  Marquis  of  Steyne,  tell- 
ing him  to  come  to  Richmond  to  a  little  party  at  the  Star 
and  Garter ;  and  another  from  the  Bishop  of  Baling  and 
Mrs.  Trail,  requesting  the  honour  of  Major  Pendennis's 
company  at  Ealing  House,  all  of  which  letters  Penden- 
nis  read  gracefully,  and  with  the  more  satisfaction, 
because  Glowry,  the  Scotch  surgeon,  breakfasting  oppo- 
site to  him,  was  looking  on,  and  hating  him  for  having 
so  many  invitations,  which  nobody  ever  sent  to  Glowry. 

These  perused,  the  Major  took  out  his  pocket-book 
to  see  on  what  days  he  was  disengaged,  and  which  of 
these  many  hospitable  calls  he  could  afford  to  accept  or 
decline. 

He  threw  over  Cutler,  the  East  India  Director,  in 
Baker  Street,  in  order  to  dine  with  Lord  Steyne  and 
the  little  French  party  at  the  Star  and  Garter — the 
Bishop  he  accepted,  because,  though  the  dinner  was 
slow,  he  liked  to  dine  with  bishops — and  so  went  through 
his  list  and  disposed  of  them  according  to  his  fancy  or 
interest.  Then  he  took  his  breakfast  and  looked  over 
the  paper,  the  gazette,  the  births  and  deaths,  and  the 
fashionable  intelligence,  to  see  that  his  name  was  down 
among  the  guests  at  my  Lord  So-and-so's  fete,  and  in 
the  intervals  of  these  occupations  carried  on  cheerful 
conversation  with  his  acquaintances  about  the  room. 

Among  the  letters  which  formed  Major  Pendennis's 
budget  for  that  morning  there  was  only  one  unread,  and 


4  PENDENNIS 

which  lay  solitary  and  apart  from  all  the  fashionable 
London  letters,  with  a  country  post-mark  and  a  homely 
seal.  The  superscription  was  in  a  pretty  delicate  female 
hand,  marked  "  immediate  "  by  the  fair  writer;  yet  the 
Major  had,  for  reasons  of  his  own,  neglected  up  to  the 
present  moment  his  humble  rural  petitioner,  who  to  be 
sure  could  hardly  hope  to  get  a  hearing  among  so  many 
grand  folks  who  attended  his  levee.  The  fact  was,  this 
was  a  letter  from  a  female  relative  of  Pendennis,  and 
while  the  grandees  of  her  brother's  acquaintance  were 
received  and  got  their  interview,  and  drove  off,  as  it 
were,  the  patient  country  letter  remained  for  a  long  time 
waiting  for  an  audience  in  the  ante-chamber,  under  the 
slop-basin. 

At  last  it  came  to  be  this  letter's  turn,  and  the  Major 
broke  a  seal  with  "  Fairoaks  "  engraved  upon  it,  and 
"  Clavering  St.  Mary's  "  for  a  post-mark.  It  was  a 
double  letter,  and  the  Major  commenced  perusing  the 
envelope  before  he  attacked  the  inner  epistle. 

"  Is  it  a  letter  from  another  Jook"  growled  Mr. 
Glowry,  inwardly.  "  Pendennis  would  not  be  leaving 
that  to  the  last,  I'm  thinking." 

"  My  dear  Major  Pendennis,"  the  letter  ran,  "  I  beg 
and  implore  you  to  come  to  me  immediately  " — very 
likely,  thought  Pendennis,  and  Steyne's  dinner  to-day 
— "  I  am  in  the  greatest  grief  and  perplexity.  My 
dearest  boy,  who  has  been  hitherto  everything  the  fond- 
est mother  could  wish,  is  grieving  me  dreadfully.  He 
has  formed — I  can  hardly  write  it — a  passion,  an  infatu- 
ation,"— the  Major  grinned — "  for  an  actress  who  has 
been  performing  here.  She  is  at  least  twelve  years  older 
than  Arthur — who  will  not  be  eighteen  till  next  Febru- 
ary—and the  wretched  boy  insists  upon  marrying  her." 


PENDENNIS  5 

"Hay!  What's  making  Pendennis  swear  now?" — 
Mr.  Glowry  asked  of  himself,  for  rage  and  wonder  were 
concentrated  in  the  Major's  open  mouth,  as  he  read  this 
astounding  announcement. 

"  Do,  my  dear  friend,"  the  grief -stricken  lady  went 
on,  "  come  to  me  instantly  on  the  receipt  of  this ;  and, 
as  Arthur's  guardian,  entreat,  command,  the  wretched 
child  to  give  up  this  most  deplorable  resolution."  And, 
after  more  entreaties  to  the  above  effect,  the  writer  con- 
cluded by  signing  herself  the  Major's  "  unhappy  affec- 
tionate sister,  Helen  Pendennis." 

"  Fairoaks,  Tuesday  " — the  Major  concluded,  read- 
ing the  last  words  of  the  letter — "  Ad — d  pretty  busi- 
ness at  Fairoaks,  Tuesday;  now  let  us  see  what  the  boy 
has  to  say ;  "  and  he  took  the  other  letter,  which  was 
written  in  a  great  floundering  boy's  hand,  and  sealed 
with  the  large  signet  of  the  Pendennises,  even  larger 
than  the  Major's  own,  and  with  supplementary  wax 
sputtered  all  round  the  seal,  in  token  of  the  writer's 
tremulousness  and  agitation. 

The  epistle  ran  thus— 

**  Fairoaks ,  Monday,  Midnight. 
"  MY  DEAR  UNCLE, 

"  In  informing  you  of  my  engagement  with  Miss  Costigan, 
daughter  of  J.  Chesterfield  Costigan,  Esq.,  of  Costiganstown, 
but,  perhaps,  better  known  to  you  under  her  professional  name 
of  Miss  Fotheringay,  of  the  Theatres  Royal,  Drury  Lane  and 
Crow  Street,  and  of  the  Norwich  and  Welsh  Circuit,  I  am  aware 
that  I  make  an  announcement  which  cannot,  according  to  the 
present  prejudices  of  society  at  least,  be  welcome  to  my  family. 
My  dearest  mother,  on  whom,  God  knows,  I  would  wish  to  inflict 
no  needless  pain,  is  deeply  moved  and  grieved,  I  am  sorry  to  say, 
by  the  intelligence  which  I  have  this  night  conveyed  to  her.  I 


6  PENDENNIS 

beseech  you,  my  dear  Sir,  to  come  down  and  reason  with  her  and 
console  her.  Although  obliged  by  poverty  to  earn  an  honourable 
maintenance  by  the  exercise  of  her  splendid  talents,  Miss  Costi- 
gan's  family  is  as  ancient  and  noble  as  our  own.  When  our  an- 
cestor, Ralph  Pendennis,  landed  with  Richard  II.  in  Ireland, 
my  Emily's  forefathers  were  kings  of  that  country.  I  have  the 
information  from  Mr.  Costigan,  who,  like  yourself,  is  a  military 
man. 

"  It  is  in  vain  I  have  attempted  to  argue  with  my  dear  mother, 
and  prove  to  her  that  a  young  lady  of  irreproachable  character 
and  lineage,  endowed  with  the  most  splendid  gifts  of  beauty  and 
genius,  who  devotes  herself  to  the  exercise  of  one  of  the  noblest 
professions,  for  the  sacred  purpose  of  maintaining  her  family,  is 
a  being  whom  we  should  all  love  and  reverence,  rather  than  avoid ; 
— my  poor  mother  has  prejudices  which  it  is  impossible  for  my 
logic  to  overcome,  and  refuses  to  welcome  to  her  arms  one  who  is 
disposed  to  be  her  most  affectionate  daughter  through  life. 

"  Although  Miss  Costigan  is  some  years  older  than  myself, 
that  circumstance  does  not  operate  as  a  barrier  to  my  affection, 
and  I  am  sure  will  not  influence  its  duration.  A  love  like  mine, 
Sir,  I  feel,  is  contracted  once  and  for  ever.  As  I  never  had 
dreamed  of  love  until  I  saw  her — I  feel  now  that  I  shall  die  with- 
out ever  knowing  another  passion.  It  is  the  fate  of  my  life ;  and 
having  loved  once,  I  should  despise  myself,  and  be  unworthy  of 
my  name  as  a  gentleman,  if  I  hesitated  to  abide  by  my  passion : 
if  I  did  not  give  all  where  I  felt  all,  and  endow  the  woman  who 
loves  me  fondly  with  my  whole  heart  and  my  whole  fortune. 

"  I  press  for  a  speedy  marriage  with  my  Emily — for  why,  in 
truth,  should  it  be  delayed?  A  delay  implies  a  doubt,  which  I 
cast  from  me  as  unworthy.  It  is  impossible  that  my  sentiments 
can  change  towards  Emily — that  at  any  age  she  can  be  anything 
but  the  sole  object  of  my  love.  Why,  then,  wait?  I  entreat  you, 
my  dear  Uncle,  to  come  down  and  reconcile  my  dear  mother  to 
our  union,  and  I  address  you  as  a  man  of  the  world,  qui  mores 
hominum  multorum  vidit  et  urbet,  who  will  not  feel  any  of  the 


PENDENNIS  7 

weak  scruples  and  fears  which  agitate  a  lady  who  has  scarcely 
ever  left  her  village. 

"  Pray,  come  down  to  us  immediately.  I  am  quite  confident 
that — apart  from  considerations  of  fortune — you  will  admire  and 
approve  of  my  Emily.  "Your  affectionate  Nephew, 

"ARTHUR  PENDENNIS,  JR." 

When  the  Major  had  concluded  the  perusal  of  this 
letter,  his  countenance  assumed  an  expression  of  such 
rage  and  horror  that  Glowry,  the  surgeon,  felt  in  his 
pocket  for  his  lancet,  which  he  always  carried  in  his  card- 
case,  and  thought  his  respected  friend  was  going  into  a 
fit.  The  intelligence  was  indeed  sufficient  to  agitate 
Pendennis.  The  head  of  the  Pendennises  going  to 
marry  an  actress  ten  years  his  senior, — the  head-strong 
boy  about  to  plunge  into  matrimony.  '  The  mother  has 
spoiled  the  young  rascal,"  groaned  the  Major  inwardly, 
"  with  her  cursed  sentimentality  and  romantic  rubbish. 
My  nephew  marry  a  tragedy  queen!  Gracious  mercy, 
people  will  laugh  at  me  so  that  I  shall  not  dare  show 
my  head!  "  And  he  thought  with  an  inexpressible  pang 
that  he  must  give  up  Lord  Steyne's  dinner  at  Richmond, 
and  must  lose  his  rest  and  pass  the  night  in  an  abomi- 
nable tight  mail-coach,  instead  of  taking  pleasure,  as  he 
had  promised  himself,  in  some  of  the  most  agreeable  and 
select  society  in  England. 

He  quitted  his  breakfast-table  for  the  adjoining 
writing-room,  and  there  ruefully  wrote  off  refusals  to 
the  Marquis,  the  Earl,  the  Bishop,  and  all  his  entertain- 
ers ;  and  he  ordered  his  servant  to  take  places  in  the  mail- 
coach  for  that  evening,  of  course  charging  the  sum 
which  he  disbursed  for  the  seats  to  the  account  of  the 
widow  and  the  young  scapegrace  of  whom  he  was 
guardian. 


CHAPTER  II 


A  PEDIGREE  AND  OTHER  FAMILY  MATTERS 

£AHLY  in  the  Regency 
of  George  the  Mag- 
nificent, there  lived 
in  a  small  town  in 
the  west  of  Eng- 
land, called  Claver- 
ing,  a  gentleman  whose 
name  was  Pendennis. 
There  were  those  alive 
who  remembered  hav- 
ing seen  his  name 
painted  on  a  board, 
which  was  surmount- 
ed by  a  gilt  pestle  and 
mortar  over  the  door 
of  a  very  humble  lit- 
tle shop  in  the  city 
of  Bath,  where  Mr. 

Pendennis  exercised  the  profession  of  apothecary  and 
surgeon;  and  where  he  not  only  attended  gentlemen 
in  their  sick-rooms,  and  ladies  at  the  most  interesting 
periods  of  their  lives,  but  would  condescend  to  sell 
a  brown-paper  plaster  to  a  farmer's  wife  across  the 
counter, — or  to  vend  tooth-brushes,  hair-powder,  and 
London  perfumery. 

And  yet  that  little  apothecary  who  sold  a  stray  cus- 


PENDENNIS  9 

tomer  a  pennyworth  of  salts,  or  a  more  fragrant  cake  of 
Windsor  soap,  was  a  gentleman  of  good  education,  and 
of  as  old  a  family  as  any  in  the  whole  county  of  Somer- 
set. He  had  a  Cornish  pedigree  which  carried  the  Pen- 
dennises  up  to  the  time  of  the  Druids, — and  who  knows 
how  much  farther  back?  They  had  intermarried  with 
the  Normans  at  a  very  late  period  of  their  family  ex- 
istence, and  they  were  related  to  all  the  great  families 
of  Wales  and  Brittany.  Pendennis  had  had  a  piece  of 
University  education  too,  and  might  have  pursued  that 
career  with  honour,  but  in  his  second  year  at  Oxbridge 
his  father  died  insolvent,  and  poor  Pen  was  obliged  to 
betake  himself  to  the  pestle  and  apron.  He  always  de- 
tested the  trade,  and  it  was  only  necessity,  and  the  offer 
of  his  mother's  brother,  a  London  apothecary  of  low 
family,  into  which  Pendennis's  father  had  demeaned 
himself  by  marrying,  that  forced  John  Pendennis  into 
so  odious  a  calling. 

He  quickly  after  his  apprenticeship  parted  from  the 
coarse-minded  practitioner  his  relative,  and  set  up  for 
himself  at  Bath  with  his  modest  medical  ensign.  He 
had  for  some  time  a  hard  struggle  with  poverty;  and  it 
was  all  he  could  do  to  keep  the  shop  in  decent  repair, 
and  his  bed-ridden  mother  in  comfort:  but  Lady  Rib- 
stone  happening  to  be  passing  to  the  Rooms  with  an  in- 
toxicated Irish  chairman  who  bumped  her  ladyship 
up  against  Pen's  very  door-post,  and  drove  his  chair- 
pole  through  the  handsomest  pink-bottle  in  the  sur- 
geon's window,  alighted  screaming  from  her  vehicle, 
and  was  accommodated  with  a  chair  in  Mr.  Pendennis's 
shop,  where  she  was  brought  round  with  cinnamon  and 
sal-volatile. 

Mr.  Pendennis's  manners  were  so  uncommonly  gen- 


10  PENDENNIS 

tlemanlike  and  soothing,  that  her  ladyship,  the  wife  of 
Sir  Pepin  Ribstone,  of  Codlingbury,  in  the  county  of 
Somerset,  Bart.,  appointed  her  preserver,  as  she  called 
him,  apothecary  to  her  person  and  family,  which  was 
very  large.  Master  Ribstone  coming  home  for  the 
Christmas  holidays  from  Eton,  over-ate  himself  and  had 
a  fever,  in  which  Mr.  Pendennis  treated  him  with  the 
greatest  skill  and  tenderness.  In  a  word,  he  got  the 
good  graces  of  the  Codlingbury  family,  and  from  that 
day  began  to  prosper.  The  good  company  of  Bath 
patronised  him,  and  amongst  the  ladies  especially  he 
was  beloved  and  admired.  First  his  humble  little  shop 
became  a  smart  one:  then  he  discarded  the  selling  of 
tooth-brushes  and  perfumery:  then  he  shut  up  the  shop 
altogether,  and  only  had  a  little  surgery  attended  by  a 
genteel  young  man:  then  he  had  a  gig  with  a  man  to 
drive  him ;  and,  before  her  exit  from  this  world,  his  poor 
old  mother  had  the  happiness  of  seeing  from  her  bed- 
room window,  to  which  her  chair  was  rolled,  her  beloved 
John  step  into  a  close  carriage  of  his  own,  a  one-horse 
carriage  it  is  true,  but  with  the  arms  of  the  family 
of  Pendennis  handsomely  emblazoned  on  the  panels. 
"  What  would  Arthur  say  now? "  she  asked,  speaking 
of  a  younger  son  of  hers — "  who  never  so  much  as  once 
came  to  see  my  dearest  Johnny  through  all  the  time  of 
his  poverty  and  struggles !  " 

"  Captain  Pendennis  is  with  his  regiment  in  India, 
mother,"  Mr.  Pendennis  remarked,  "  and,  if  you  please, 
I  wish  you  would  not  call  me  Johnny  before  the  young 
man— before  Mr.  Parkins." 

Presently  the  day  came  when  she  ceased  to  call  her 
son  by  any  title  of  endearment  or  affection;  and  his 
house  was  very  lonely  without  that  kind  though  queru- 


PENDENNIS  11 

lous  voice.  He  had  his  night-bell  altered  and  placed  in 
the  room  in  which  the  good  old  lady  had  grumbled  for 
many  a  long  year,  and  he  slept  in  the  great  large  bed 
there.  He  was  upwards  of  forty  years  old  when  these 
events  befel:  before  the  war  was  over;  before  George 
the  Magnificent  came  to  the  throne;  before  this  history 
indeed:  but  what  is  a  gentleman  without  his  pedigree? 
Pendennis,  by  this  time,  had  his  handsomely  framed  and 
glazed,  and  hanging  up  in  his  drawing-room  between 
the  pictures  of  Codlingbury  House  in  Somersetshire, 
and  St.  Boniface's  College,  Oxbridge,  where  he  had 
passed  the  brief  and  happy  days  of  his  early  manhood. 
As  for  the  pedigree,  he  had  taken  it  out  of  a  trunk,  as 
Sterne's  officer  called  for  his  sword,  now  that  he  was  a 
gentleman  and  could  show  it. 

About  the  time  of  Mrs.  Pendennis's  demise,  another 
of  her  son's  patients  likewise  died  at  Bath ;  that  virtuous 
old  woman,  old  Lady  Pontypool,  daughter  of  Reginald 
twelfth  Earl  of  Bareacres,  and  by  consequence  great- 
grand-aunt  to  the  present  Earl,  and  widow  of  John 
second  Lord  Pontypool,  and  likewise  of  the  Reverend 
Jonas  Wales,  of  the  Armageddon  Chapel,  Clifton. 
For  the  last  five  years  of  her  life  her  ladyship  had  been 
attended  by  Miss  Helen  Thistlewood,  a  very  distant 
relative  of  the  noble  house  of  Bareacres,  before  men- 
tioned, and  daughter  of  Lieutenant  R.  Thistlewood, 
R.  N.,  killed  at  the  battle  of  Copenhagen.  Under  Lady 
Pontypool's  roof  Miss  Thistlewood  found  a  shelter :  the 
Doctor,  who  paid  his  visits  to  my  Lady  Pontypool  at 
least  twice  a  day,  could  not  but  remark  the  angelical 
sweetness  and  kindness  with  which  the  young  lady  bore 
her  elderly  relative's  ill-temper ;  and  it  was  as  they  were 
going  in  the  fourth  mourning  coaeh  to  attend  her  lady- 


12 


PENDENNIS 


ship's  venerated  remains  to  Bath  Abbey,  where  they 
now  repose,  that  he  looked  at  her  sweet  pale  face  and 
resolved  upon  putting  a  certain  question  to  her,  the  very 
nature  of  which  made  his  pulse  beat  ninety,  at  least. 
He  was  older  than  she  by  more  than  twenty  years,  and 


at  no  time  the  most  ardent  of  men.  Perhaps  he  had  had 
a  love  affair  in  early  life  which  he  had  to  strangle— per- 
haps all  early  love  affairs  ought  to  be  strangled  or 
drowned,  like  so  many  blind  kittens:  well,  at  three-and- 
forty  he  was  a  collected  quiet  little  gentleman  in  black 
stockings  with  a  bald  head,  and  a  few  days  after  the 
ceremony  he  called  to  see  her,  and,  as  he  felt  her  pulse, 


PENDENNIS  13 

he  kept  hold  of  her  hand  in  his,  and  asked  her  where  she 
was  going  to  live  now  that  the  Pontypool  family  had 
come  down  upon  the  property,  which  was  being  nailed 
into  boxes,  and  packed  into  hampers,  and  swaddled  up 
with  haybands,  and  buried  in  straw,  and  locked  under 
three  keys  in  green-baize  plate-chests,  and  carted  away 
under  the  eyes  of  poor  Miss  Helen, — he  asked  her  where 
she  was  going  to  live  finally. 

Her  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  she  said  she  did  not 
know.  She  had  a  little  money.  The  old  lady  had  left 
her  a  thousand  pounds,  indeed;  and  she  would  go  into 
a  boarding-house  or  into  a  school:  in  fine,  she  did  not 
know  where. 

Then  Pendennis,  looking  into  her  pale  face,  and  keep- 
ing hold  of  her  cold  little  hand,  asked  her  if  she  would 
come  and  live  with  him?  He  was  old  compared  to — to 
so  blooming  a  young  lady  as  Miss  Thistlewood  (Pen- 
dennis was  of  the  grave  old  complimentary  school  of 
gentlemen  and  apothecaries),  but  he  was  of  good  birth, 
and,  he  flattered  himself,  of  good  principles  and  temper. 
His  prospects  were  good,  and  daily  mending.  He  was 
alone  in  the  world,  and  had  need  of  a  kind  and  constant 
companion,  whom  it  would  be  the  study  of  his  life  to 
make  happy ;  in  a  word,  he  recited  to  her  a  little  speech, 
which  he  had  composed  that  morning  in  bed,  and  re- 
hearsed and  perfected  in  his  carriage,  as  he  was  coming 
to  wait  upon  the  young  lady. 

Perhaps  if  he  had  had  an  early  love-passage,  she  too 
had  one  day  hoped  for  a  different  lot  than  to  be  wedded 
to  a  little  gentleman  who  rapped  his  teeth  and  smiled 
artificially,  who  was  laboriously  polite  to  the  butler  as 
he  slid  up  stairs  into  the  drawing-room,  and  profusely 
civil  to  the  lady's-maid,  who  waited  at  the  bed-room 


14  PENDENNIS 

door;  for  whom  her  old  patroness  used  to  ring  as  for  a 
servant,  and  who  came  with  even  more  eagerness;  per- 
haps she  would  have  chosen  a  different  man— but  she 
knew,  on  the  other  hand,  how  worthy  Pendennis  was, 
how  prudent,  how  honourable;  how  good  he  had  been 
to  his  mother,  and  constant  in  his  care  of  her;  and  the 
upshot  of  this  interview  was,  that  she,  blushing  very 
much,  made  Pendennis  an  extremely  low  curtsey,  and 
asked  leave  to — to  consider  his  very  kind  proposal. 

They  were  married  in  the  dull  Bath  season,  which  was 
the  height  of  the  season  in  London.  And  Pendennis 
having  previously,  through  a  professional  friend, 
M.R.C.S.,  secured  lodgings  in  Holies  Street,  Cavendish 
Square,  took  his  wife  thither  in  a  chaise  and  pair;  con- 
ducted her  to  the  theatres,  the  Parks,  and  the  Chapel 
Royal;  showed  her  the  folks  going  to  a  Drawing-room, 
and,  in  a  word,  gave  her  all  the  pleasures  of  the  town. 
He  likewise  left  cards  upon  Lord  Pontypool,  upon  the 
Right  Honourable  the  Earl  of  Bareacres,  and  upon  Sir 
Pepin  and  Lady  Ribstone,  his  earliest  and  kindest  pa- 
trons. Bareacres  took  no  notice  of  the  cards.  Ponty- 
pool called,  admired  Mrs.  Pendennis,  and  said  Lady 
Pontypool  would  come  and  see  her,  which  her  ladyship 
did,  per  proxy  of  John  her  footman,  who  brought  her 
card,  and  an  invitation  to  a  concert  five  weeks  off.  Pen- 
dennis was  back  in  his  little  one-horse  carriage,  dispens- 
ing draughts  and  pills,  at  that  time:  but  the  Ribstones 
asked  him  and  Mrs.  Pendennis  to  an  entertainment, 
of  which  Mr.  Pendennis  talked  to  the  last  day  of  his  life. 

The  secret  ambition  of  Mr.  Pendennis  had  always 
been  to  be  a  gentleman.  It  takes  much  time  and  careful 
saving  for  a  provincial  doctor,  whose  gains  are  not  very 


PENDENNIS  15 

large,  to  lay  by  enough  money  wherewith  to  purchase  a 
house  and  land:  but  besides  our  friend's  own  frugality 
and  prudence,  fortune  aided  him  considerably  in  his 
endeavour,  and  brought  him  to  the  point  which  he  so 
panted  to  attain.  He  laid  out  some  money  very  advan- 
tageously in  the  purchase  of  a  house  and  small  estate 
close  upon  the  village  of  Clavering  before  mentioned. 
A  lucky  purchase  which  he  had  made  of  shares  in  a 
copper-mine  added  very  considerably  to  his  wealth,  and 
he  realised  with  great  prudence  while  this  mine  was  still 
at  its  full  vogue.  Finally,  he  sold  his  business,  at  Bath, 
to  Mr.  Parkins,  for  a  handsome  sum  of  ready  money, 
and  for  an  annuity  to  be  paid  to  him  during  a  certain 
number  of  years  after  he  had  for  ever  retired  from  the 
handling  of  the  mortar  and  pestle. 

Arthur  Pendennis,  his  son,  was  eight  years  old  at  the 
time  of  this  event,  so  that  it  is  no  wonder  that  the  lad, 
who  left  Bath  and  the  surgery  so  young,  should  forget 
the  existence  of  such  a  place  almost  entirely,  and  that 
his  father's  hands  had  ever  been  dirtied  by  the  com- 
pounding of  odious  pills,  or  the  preparation  of  filthy 
plasters.  The  old  man  never  spoke  about  the  shop  him- 
self, never  alluded  to  it;  called  in  the  medical  practi- 
tioner of  Clavering  to  attend  his  family ;  sunk  the  black 
breeches  and  stockings  altogether;  attended  market  and 
sessions,  and  wore  a  bottle-green  coat  and  brass  buttons 
with  drab  gaiters,  just  as  if  he  had  been  an  English  gen- 
tleman all  his  life*.  He  used  to  stand  at  his  lodge-gate, 
and  see  the  coaches  come  in,  and  bow  gravely  to  the 
guards  and  coachmen  as  they  touched  their  hats  and 
drove  by.  It  was  he  who  founded  the  Clavering  Book 
Club:  and  set  up  the  Samaritan  Soup  and  Blanket  So- 
ciety. It  was  he  who  brought  the  mail,  which  used  to 


16  PENDENNIS 

run  through  Cacklefield  before,  away  from  that  village 
and  through  Clavering.  At  church  he  was  equally  active 
as  a  vestryman  and  a  worshipper.  At  market  every 
Thursday,  he  went  from  pen  to  stall;  looked  at  samples 
of  oats,  and  munched  corn;  felt  beasts,  punched  geese 
in  the  breast,  and  weighed  them  with  a  knowing  air ;  and 
did  business  with  the  farmers  at  the  Clavering  Arms, 
as  well  as  the  oldest  frequenter  of  that  house  of  call. 
It  was  now  his  shame,  as  it  formerly  was  his  pride,  to  be 
called  doctor,  and  those  who  wished  to  please  him  always 
gave  him  the  title  of  Squire. 

Heaven  knows  where  they  came  from,  but  a  whole 
range  of  Pendennis  portraits  presently  hung  round  the 
Doctor's  oak  dining-room;  Lelys  and  Vandykes  he 
vowed  all  the  portraits  to  be,  and  when  questioned  as 
to  the  history  of  the  originals,  would  vaguely  say  they 
were  "  ancestors  of  his."  His  little  boy  believed  in  them 
to  their  fullest  extent,  and  Roger  Pendennis  of  Agin- 
court,  Arthur  Pendennis  of  Crecy,  General  Pendennis 
of  Blenheim  and  Oudenarde,  were  as  real  and  actual 
beings  for  this  young  gentleman  as — whom  shall  we 
say?— as  Robinson  Crusoe,  or  Peter  Wilkins,  or  the 
Seven  Champions  of  Christendom,  whose  histories  were 
in  his  library. 

Pendennis's  fortune,  which  was  not  above  eight  hun- 
dred pounds  a  year,  did  not,  with  the  best  economy  and 
management,  permit  of  his  living  with  the  great  folks 
of  the  county;  but  he  had  a  decent  comfortable  society 
of  the  second  sort.  If  they  were  not  the  roses,  they  lived 
near  the  roses,  as  it  were,  and  had  a  good  deal  of  the 
odour  of  genteel  life.  They  had  out  their  plate,  and 
dined  each  other  round  in  the  moonlight  nights  twice 
a  year,  coming  a  dozen  miles  to  these  festivals;  and 


PENDENNIS  17 

besides  the  county,  the  Pendennises  had  the  society  of 
the  town  of  Clavering,  as  much  as,  nay,  more  than  they 
liked :  for  Mrs.  Pybus  was  always  poking  about  Helen's 
conservatories,  and  intercepting  the  operation  of  her 
soup-tickets  and  coal-clubs:  Captain  Glanders  (H.  P., 
50th  Dragoon  Guards)  was  for  ever  swaggering  about 
the  Squire's  stables  and  gardens,  and  endeavouring  to 
enlist  him  in  his  quarrels  with  the  Vicar,  with  the  Post- 
master, with  the  Reverend  F.  Wapshot  of  Clavering 
Grammar  School,  for  overflogging  his  son,  Anglesea 
Glanders, — with  all  the  village  in  fine.  And  Pendennis 
and  his  wife  often  blessed  themselves,  that  their  house 
of  Fairoaks  was  nearly  a  mile  out  of  Clavering,  or  their 
premises  would  never  have  been  free  from  the  prying 
eyes  and  prattle  of  one  or  other  of  the  male  and  female 
inhabitants  there. 

Fairoaks  lawn  comes  down  to  the  little  river  Brawl, 
and  on  the  other  side  were  the  plantations  and  woods  ( as 
much  as  were  left  of  them)  of  Clavering  Park,  Sir 
Francis  Clavering,  Bart.  The  park  was  let  out  in  pas- 
ture and  fed  down  by  sheep  and  cattle  when  the  Pen- 
dennises came  first  to  live  at  Fairoaks.  Shutters  were 
up  in  the  house ;  a  splendid  freestone  palace,  with  great 
stairs,  statues,  and  porticos,  whereof  you  may  see  a  pic- 
ture in  the  "  Beauties  of  England  and  Wales."  Sir 
Richard  Clavering,  Sir  Francis's  grandfather,  had 
commenced  the  ruin  of  the  family  by  the  building  of 
this  palace :  his  successor  had  achieved  the  ruin  by  living 
in  it.  The  present  Sir  Francis  was  abroad  somewhere; 
nor  could  anybody  be  found  rich  enough  to  rent  that 
enormous  mansion,  through  the  deserted  rooms,  mouldy 
clanking  halls,  and  dismal  galleries  of  which,  Arthur 
Pendennis  many  a  time  walked  trembling  when  he  was 


18  PENDENNIS 

a  boy.  At  sunset,  from  the  lawn  of  Fairoaks,  there  was 
a  pretty  sight:  it  and  the  opposite  park  of  Clavering 
were  in  the  habit  of  putting  on  a  rich  golden  tinge, 
which  became  them  both  wonderfully.  The  upper  win- 
dows of  the  great  house  flamed  so  as  to  make  your  eyes 
wink;  the  little  river  ran  off  noisily  westward,  and  was 
lost  in  a  sombre  wood,  behind  which  the  towers  of  the  old 
abbey  church  of  Clavering  (whereby  that  town  is  called 
Clavering  St.  Mary's  to  the  present  day)  rose  up  in 
purple  splendour.  Little  Arthur's  figure  and  his  mo- 
ther's cast  long  blue  shadows  over  the  grass:  and  he 
would  repeat  in  a  low  voice  ( for  a  scene  of  great  natural 
beauty  always  moved  the  boy,  who  inherited  this  sen- 
sibility from  his  mother)  certain  lines  beginning, "These 
are  thy  glorious  works,  Parent  of  Good;  Almighty! 
thine  this  universal  frame,"  greatly  to  Mrs.  Penden- 
nis's  delight.  Such  walks  and  conversation  generally 
ended  in  a  profusion  of  filial  and  maternal  embraces ;  for 
to  love  and  to  pray  were  the  main  occupations  of  this 
dear  woman's  life;  and  I  have  often  heard  Pendennis 
say  in  his  wild  way,  that  he  felt  that  he  was  sure  of  going 
to  heaven,  for  his  mother  never  could  be  happy  there 
without  him.  . 

As  for  John  Pendennis,  as  the  father  of  the  family, 
and  that  sort  of  thing,  everybody  had  the  greatest  re- 
spect for  him:  and  his  orders  were  obeyed  like  those  of 
the  Medes  and  Persians.  His  hat  was  as  well  brushed, 
perhaps,  as  that  of  any  man  in  this  empire.  His  meals 
were  served  at  the  same  minute  every  day,  and  woe  to 
those  who  came  late,  as  little  Pen,  a  disorderly  little  ras- 
cal, sometimes  did.  Prayers  were  recited,  his  letters 
were  read,  his  business  dispatched,  his  stables  and  gar- 
den inspected,  his  hen-houses  and  kennel,  his  barn  and 


Calm  Summer  Evenings 


PENDENNIS  19 

pigstye  visited,  always  at  regular  hours.  After  dinner 
he  always  had  a  nap  with  the  Globe  newspaper  on  his 
knee,  and  his  yellow  bandanna  handkerchief  on  his  face 
(Major  Pendennis  sent  the  yellow  handkerchiefs  from 
India,  and  his  brother  had  helped  in  the  purchase  of 
his  majority,  so  that  they  were  good  friends  now) .  And 
so,  as  his  dinner  took  place  at  six  o'clock  to  a  minute, 
and  the  sunset  business  alluded  to  may  be  supposed  to 
have  occurred  at  about  half -past  seven,  it  is  probable 
that  he  did  not  much  care  for  the  view  in  front  of  his 
lawn  windows,  or  take  any  share  in  the  poetry  and 
caresses  which  were  taking  place  there. 

They  seldom  occurred  in  his  presence.  However 
frisky  they  were  before,  mother  and  child  were  hushed 
and  quiet  when  Mr.  Pendennis  walked  into  the  draw- 
ing-room, his  newspaper  under  his  arm.  .  .  And  here, 
while  little  Pen,  buried  in  a  great  chair,  read  all  the 
books  of  which  he  could  lay  hold,  the  Squire  perused  his 
own  articles  in  the  "  Gardener's  Gazette,"  or  took  a 
solemn  hand  at  picquet  with  Mrs.  Pendennis,  or  an  occa- 
sional friend  from  the  village. 

Pendennis  usually  took  care  that  at  least  one  of  his 
grand  dinners  should  take  place  when  his  brother,  the 
Major,  who,  on  the  return  of  his  regiment  from  India 
and  New  South  Wales,  had  sold  out  and  gone  upon 
half -pay,  came  to  pay  his  biennial  visit  to  Fairoaks. 
"  My  brother,  Major  Pendennis,"  was  a  constant  theme 
of  the  retired  Doctor's  conversation.  All  the  family 
delighted  in  my  brother  the  Major.  He  was  the  link 
which  bound  them  to  the  great  world  of  London,  and 
the  fashion.  He  always  brought  down  the  last  news  of 
the  nobility,  and  spoke  of  such  with  soldier-like  respect 


20  PENDENNIS 

and  decorum.  He  would  say,  "  My  Lord  Bareacres  has 
been  good  enough  to  invite  me  to  Bareacres  for  the 
pheasant  shooting,"  or,."  My  Lord  Steyne  is  so  kind  as 
to  wish  for  my  presence  at  Stillbrook  for  the  Easter 
holidays;  "  and  you  may  be  sure  the  whereabouts  of  my 
brother  the  Major  was  carefully  made  known  by  worthy 
Mr.  Pendennis  to  his  friends  at  the  Clavering  Reading- 
room,  at  Justice-meetings,  or  at  the  County-town. 
Their  carriages  would  come  from  ten  miles  round  to  call 
upon  Major  Pendennis  in  his  visits  to  Fairoaks;  the 
fame  of  his  fashion  as  a  man  about  town  was  established 
throughout  the  county.  There  was  a  talk  of  his  marry- 
ing Miss  Hunkle,  of  Lilybank,  old  Hunkle  the  Attor- 
ney's daughter,  with  at  least  fifteen  hundred  a-year  to 
her  fortune;  but  my  brother  the  Major  declined.  "  As 
a  bachelor,"  he  said,  "  nobody  cares  how  poor  I  am.  I 
have  the  happiness  to  live  with  people  who  are  so  highly 
placed  in  the  world,  that  a  few  hundreds  or  thousands 
a  year  more  or  less  can  make  no  difference  in  the  esti- 
mation in  which  they  are  pleased  to  hold  me.  Miss 
Hunkle,  though  a  most  respectable  lady,  is  not  in  pos- 
session of  either  the  birth  or  the  manners  which  would 
entitle  her  to  be  received  into  the  sphere  in  which  I 
have  the  honour  to  move.  I  shall  live  and  die  an  old 
bachelor,  John:  and  your  worthy  friend,  Miss  Hunkle, 
I  have  no  doubt,  will  find  some  more  worthy  object  of 
her  affection,  than  a  worn-out  old  soldier  on  half-pay." 
Time  showed  the  correctness  of  the  surmise ;  Miss  Hun- 
kle married  a  young  French  nobleman,  and  is  now  at 
this  moment  living  at  Lilybank,  under  the  title  of  Bar- 
oness de  Carambole,  having  been  separated  from  her 
wild  young  scapegrace  of  a  Baron  very  shortly  after 
their  union. 


PENDENNIS  21 

The  Major  had  a  sincere  liking  and  regard  for  his 
sister-in-law,  whom  he  pronounced,  and  with  perfect 
truth,  to  be  as  fine  a  lady  as  any  in  England.  Indeed, 
Mrs.  Pendennis's  tranquil  beauty,  her  natural  sweet- 
ness and  kindness,  and  that  simplicity  and  dignity  which 
a  perfect  purity  and  innocence  are  sure  to  bestow  upon  a 
handsome  woman,  rendered  her  quite  worthy  of  her 
brother's  praises.  I  think  it  is  not  national  prejudice 
which  makes  me  believe  that  a  high-bred  English  lady 
is  the  most  complete  of  all  Heaven's  subjects  in  this 
world.  In  whom  else  do  you  see  so  much  grace,  and  so 
much  virtue;  so  much  faith,  and  so  much  tenderness; 
with  such  a  perfect  refinement  and  chastity?  And  by 
high-bred  ladies  I  don't  mean  duchesses  and  countesses. 
Be  they  ever  so  high  in  station,  they  can  be  but  ladies, 
and  no  more.  But  almost  every  man  who  lives  in  the 
world  has  the  happiness,  let  us  hope,  of  counting  a  few 
such  persons  amongst  his  circle  of  acquaintance — 
women  in  whose  angelical  natures  there  is  something 
awful,  as  well  as  beautiful,  to  contemplate;  at  whose 
feet  the  wildest  and  fiercest  of  us  must  fall  down  and 
humble  ourselves,  in  admiration  of  that  adorable  purity 
which  never  seems  to  do  or  to  think  wrong. 

Arthur  Pendennis  had  the  good  fortune  to  have  such 
a  mother.  During  his  childhood  and  youth,  the  boy 
thought  of  her  as  little  less  than  an  angel — a  super- 
natural being,  all  wisdom,  love,  and  beauty.  When  her 
husband  drove  her  into  the  county  town,  to  the  assize 
balls  or  concerts,  he  would  step  into  the  assembly  with 
his  wife  on  his  arm,  and  look  the  great  folks  in  the  face, 
as  much  as  to  say,  "  Look  at  that,  my  lord ;  can  any  of 
you  show  me  a  woman  like  that?  "  She  enraged  some 
country  ladies  with  three  times  her  money,  by  a  sort  of 


22  PENDENNIS 

desperate  perfection  which  they  found  in  her.  Miss 
Pybus  said  she  was  cold  and  haughty ;  Miss  Pierce,  that 
she  was  too  proud  for  her  station;  Mrs.  Wapshot,  as  a 
doctor  of  divinity's  lady,  would  have  the  pas  of  her,  who 
was  only  the  wife  of  a  medical  practitioner.  In  the 
meanwhile,  this  lady  moved  through  the  world  quite  re- 
gardless of  all  the  comments  that  were  made  in 
her  praise  or  disfavour.  She  did  not  seem  to  know 
that  she  was  admired  or  hated  for  being  so  perfect ;  but 
carried  on  calmly  through  life,  saying  her  prayers, 
loving  her  family,  helping  her  neighbours,  and  doing 
her  duty. 

That  even  a  woman  should  be  faultless,  however,  is 
an,  arrangement  not  permitted  by  nature,  which  assigns 
to  us  mental  defects,  as  it  awards  to  us  headaches,  ill- 
nesses, or  death:  without  which  the  scheme  of  the  world 
could  not  be  carried  on,— nay,  some  of  the  best  qualities 
of  mankind  could  not  be  brought  into  exercise.  As  pain 
produces  or  elicits  fortitude  and  endurance;  difficulty, 
perseverance;  poverty,  industry  and  ingenuity;  danger, 
courage  and  what  not;  so  the  very  virtues,  on  the  other 
hand,  will  generate  some  vices;  and,  in  fine,  Mrs.  Pen- 
dennis  had  that  vice  which  Miss  Pybus  and  Miss  Pierce 
discovered  in  her,  namely,  that  of  pride;  which  did  not 
vest  itself  so  much  in  her  own  person,  as  in  that  of  her 
family.  She  spoke  about  Mr.  Pendennis  (a  worthy  lit- 
tle gentleman  enough,  but  there  are  others  as  good  as 
he)  with  an  awful  reverence,  as  if  he  had  been  the  Pope 
of  Rome  on  his  throne,  and  she  a  cardinal  kneeling  at 
his  feet,  and  giving  him  incense.  The  Major  she  held 
to  be  a  sort  of  Bayard  among  Majors:  and  as  for  her  son 
Arthur  she  worshipped  that  youth  with  an  ardour  which 
the  young  scapegrace  accepted  almost  as  coolly  as  the 


PENDENNIS  23 

statue  of  the  Saint  in  Saint  Peter's  receives  the  raptur- 
ous osculations  which  the  faithful  deliver  on  his  toe. 

This  unfortunate  superstition  and  idol-worship  of 
this  good  woman  was  the  cause  of  a  great  deal  of  the 
misfortune  which  befel  the  young  gentleman  who  is 
the  hero  of  this  history,  and  deserves  therefore  to  be 
mentioned  at  the  outset  of  his  story. 

Arthur  Pendennis's  schoolfellows  at  the  Grey  Friars 
School  state  that,  as  a  boy,  he  was  in  no  ways  remarkable 
either  as  a  dunce  or  as  a  scholar.  He  never  read  to  im- 
prove himself  out  of  school-hours,  but,  on  the  contrary, 
devoured  all  the  novels,  plays,  and  poetry,  on  which  he 
could  lay  his  hands.  He  never  was  flogged,  but  it  was 
a  wonder  how  he  escaped  the  whipping-post.  When  he 
had  money  he  spent  it  royally  in  tarts  for  himself  and 
his  friends ;  he  has  been  known  to  disburse  nine  and  six- 
pence out  of  ten  shillings  awarded  to  him  in  a  single 
day.  When  he  had  no  funds  he  went  on  tick.  When 
he  could  get  no  credit  he  went  without,  and  was  almost 
as  happy.  He  has  been  known  to  take  a  thrashing  for 
a  crony  without  saying  a  word ;  but  a  blow,  ever  so  slight, 
from  a  friend,  would  make  him  roar.  To  fighting  he 
was  averse  from  his  earliest  youth,  as  indeed  to  physic, 
the  Greek  Grammar,  or  any  other  exertion,  and  would 
engage  in  none  of  them,  except  at  the  last  extremity. 
He  seldom  if  ever  told  lies,  and  never  bullied  little  boys. 
Those  masters  or  seniors  who  were  kind  to  him,  he  loved 
with  boyish  ardour.  And  though  the  Doctor,  when  he 
did  not  know  his  Horace,  or  could  not  construe  his 
Greek  play,  said  that  that  boy  Pendennis  was  a  disgrace 
to  the  school,  a  candidate  for  ruin  in  this  world,  and 
perdition  in  the  next ;  a  profligate  who  would  most  likely 
bring  his  venerable  father  to  ruiji  and  his  mother  to  a 


24  PEXDENNIS 

dishonoured  grave,  and  the  like— yet  as  the  Doctor 
made  use  of  these  compliments  to  most  of  the  boys  in 
the  place  (which  has  not  turned  out  an  unusual  number 
of  felons  and  pickpockets),  little  Pen,  at  first  uneasy 
and  terrified  by  these  charges,  became  gradually  accus- 
tomed to  hear  them ;  and  he  has  not,  in  fact,  either  mur- 
dered his  parents,  or  committed  any  act  worthy  of 
transportation  or  hanging  up  to  the  present  day. 

There  were  many  of  the  upper  boys,  among  the  Cis- 
tercians with  whom  Pendennis  was  educated,  who  as- 
sumed all  the  privileges  of  men  long  before  they  quitted 
that  seminary.  Many  of  them,  for  example,  smoked 
cigars— and  some  had  already  begun  the  practice  of  in- 
ebriation. One  had  fought  a  duel  with  an  Ensign  in  a 
marching  regiment  in  consequence  of  a  row  at  the  thea- 
tre— another  actually  kept  a  buggy  and  horse  at  a  livery 
stable  in  Covent  Garden,  and  might  be  seen  driving 
any  Sunday  in  Hyde  Park  with  a  groom  with  squared 
arms  and  armorial  buttons  by  his  side.  Many  of  the 
seniors  were  in  love,  and  showed  each  other  in  confi- 
dence poems  addressed  to,  or  letters  and  locks  of  hair 
received  from,  young  ladies— but  Pen,  a  modest  and 
timid  youth,  rather  envied  these  than  imitated  them  as 
yet.  He  had  not  got  beyond  the  theory  as  yet— the 
practice  of  life  was  all  to  come.  And  by  the  way,  ye 
tender  mothers  and  sober  fathers  of  Christian  families, 
a  prodigious  thing  that  theory  of  life  is  as  orally 
learned  at  a  great  public  school.  Why,  if  you  could 
hear  those  boys  of  fourteen  who  blush  before  mothers 
and  sneak  off  in  silence  in  the  presence  of  their  daugh- 
ters, talking  among  each  other — it  would  be  the  wo- 
man's turn  to  blush  then.  Before  he  was  twelve  years 
old  little  Pen  had  heard  talk  enough  to  make  him  quite 


PENDENNIS  25 

awfully  wise  upon  certain  points— and  so,  Madam,  has 
your  pretty  little  rosy-cheeked  son,  who  is  coming  home 
from  school  for  the  ensuing  holidays.  I  don't  say  that 
the  boy  is  lost,  or  that  the  innocence  has  left  him  which 
he  had  from  "  Heaven,  which  is  our  home,"  but  that  the 
shades  of  the  prison-house  are  closing  very  fast  over 
him,  and  that  we  are  helping  as  much  as  possible  to  cor- 
rupt him. 

Well — Pen  had  just  made  his  public  appearance  in  a 
coat  with  a  tail,  or  cauda-virilis,  and  was  looking  most 
anxiously  in  his  little  study-glass  to  see  if  his  whiskers 
were  growing,  like  those  of  more  fortunate  youths  his 
companions;  and,  instead  of  the  treble  voice  with  which 
he  used  to  speak  and  sing  (for  his  singing  voice  was  a 
very  sweet  one,  and  he  used  when  little  to  be  made  to 
perform  "  Home,  sweet  Home,"  "  My  pretty  Page," 
and  a  French  song  or  two  which  his  mother  had  taught 
him,  and  other  ballads  for  the  delectation  of  the  senior 
boys),  had  suddenly  plunged  into  a  deep  bass  diversi- 
fied by  a  squeak,  which  set  master  and  scholars  laughing 
— he  was  about  sixteen  years  old  in  a  word,  when  he  was 
suddenly  called  away  from  his  academic  studies. 

It  was  at  the  close  of  the  forenoon  school,  and  Pen 
had  been  unnoticed  all  the  previous  part  of  the  morning 
till  now,  when  the  Doctor  put  him  on  to  construe  in  a 
Greek  play.  He  did  not  know  a  word  of  it,  though  lit- 
tle Timmins,  his  form-fellow,  was  prompting  him  with 
all  his  might.  Pen  had  made  a  sad  blunder  or  two— 
when  the  awful  chief  broke  out  upon  him. 

"  Pendennis,  sir,"  he  said,  "  your  idleness  is  incorri- 
gible and  your  stupidity  beyond  example.  You  are  a 
disgrace  to  your  school,  and  to  your  family,  and  I  have 
no  doubt  will  prove  so  in  after-life  to  your  country.  If 


26  PENDENNIS 

that  vice,  sir,  which  is  described  to  us  as  the  root  of  all 
evil,  be  really  what  moralists  have  represented  (and  I 
have  no  doubt  of  the  correctness  of  their  opinion ) ,  for 
what  a  prodigious  quantity  of  future  crime  and  wicked- 
ness are  you,  unhappy  boy,  laying  the  seed!  Miserable 
trifler!  A  boy  who  construes  8e  and,  instead  of  8e  but, 
at  sixteen  years  of  age,  is  guilty  not  merely  of  folly, 
and  ignorance,  and  dullness  inconceivable,  but  of  crime, 
of  deadly  crime,  of  filial  ingratitude,  which  I  tremble 
to  contemplate.  A  boy,  sir,  who  does  not  learn  his 
Greek  play  cheats  the  parent  who  spends  money  for  his 
education.  A  boy  who  cheats  his  parent  is  not  very  far 
from  robbing  or  forging  upon  his  neighbour.  A  man 
who  forges  on  his  neighbour  pays  the  penalty  of  his 
crime  at  the  gallows.  And  it  is  not  such  a  one  that  I 
pity  (for  he  will  be  deservedly  cut  off) ;  but  his  mad- 
dened and  heart-broken  parents,  who  are  driven  to  a 
premature  grave  by  his  crimes,  or,  if  they  live,  drag  on 
a  wretched  and  dishonoured  old  age.  Go  on,  sir,  and 
I  warn  you  that  the  very  next  mistake  that  you  make 
shall  subject  you  to  the  punishment  of  the  rod.  Who's 
that  laughing?  What  ill-conditioned  boy  is  there  that 
dares  to  laugh  ?  "  shouted  the  Doctor. 

Indeed,  while  the  master  was  making  this  oration, 
there  was  a  general  titter  behind  him  in  the  school-room. 
The  orator  had  his  back  to  the  door  of  this  ancient  apart- 
ment, which  was  open,  and  a  gentleman  who  was  quite 
familiar  with  the  place,  for  both  Major  Arthur  and  Mr. 
John  Pendennis  had  been  at  the  school,  was  asking  the 
fifth-form  boy  who  sat  by  the  door  for  Pendennis.  The 
lad  grinning  pointed  to  the  culprit  against  whom  the 
Doctor  was  pouring  out  the  thunders  of  his  just  wrath 
—Major  Pendennis  could  not  help  laughing.  He  re- 


PENDENNIS  27 

membered  having  stood  under  that  very  pillar  where 
Pen  the  younger  now  stood,  and  having  been  assaulted 
by  the  Doctor's  predecessor  years  and  years  ago.  The 
intelligence  was  "  passed  round  "  that  it  was  Pendennis's 
uncle  in  an  instant,  and  a  hundred  young  faces  wonder- 


ing  and  giggling,  between  terror  and  laughter,  turned 
now  to  the  new  comer  and  then  to  the  awful  Doctor. 

The  Major  asked  the  fifth-form  boy  to  carry  his  card 
up  to  the  Doctor,  which  the  lad  did  with  an  arch  look. 
Major  Pendennis  had  written  on  the  card,  "  I  must  take 
A.  P.  home;  his  father  is  very  ill." 

As  the  Doctor  received  the  card,  and  stopped  his  ha- 
rangue with  rather  a  scared  look,  the  laughter  of  the 
boys,  half  constrained  until  then,  burst  out  in  a  general 
shout.  "Silence!"  roared  out  the  Doctor,  stamping 
with  his  foot.  Pen  looked  up  arid  saw  who  was  his  de- 


28  PENDENNIS 

liverer;  the  Major  beckoned  to  him  gravely,  and  tum- 
bling down  his  books,  Pen  went  across. 

The  Doctor  took  out  his  watch.  It  was  two  minutes 
to  one.  '  We  will  take  the  Juvenal  at  afternoon 
school,"  he  said,  nodding  to  the  Captain,  and  all  the 
boys  understanding  the  signal  gathered  up  their  books 
and  poured  out  of  the  hall. 

Young  Pen  saw  by  his  uncle's  face  that  something 
had  happened  at  home.  "  Is  there  anything  the  matter 
with— my  mother?  "  he  said.  He  could  hardly  speak, 
though,  for  emotion,  and  the  tears  which  were  ready  to 
start. 

"  No,"  said  the  Major,  "  but  your  father's  very  ill. 
Go  and  pack  your  trunk  directly;  I  have  got  a  post- 
chaise  at  the  gate." 

Pen  went  off  quickly  to  his  boarding-house  to  do  as 
his  uncle  bade  him;  and  the  Doctor,  now  left  alone  in 
the  school-room,  came  out  to  shake  hands  with  his  old 
schoolfellow.  You  would  not  have  thought  it  was  the 
same  man.  As  Cinderella  at  a  particular  hour  became, 
from  a  blazing  and  magnificent  princess,  quite  an  ordi- 
nary little  maid  in  a  grey  petticoat,  so,  as  the  clock 
struck  one,  all  the  thundering  majesty  and  awful  wrath 
of  the  schoolmaster  disappeared. 

"  There  is  nothing  serious,  I  hope,"  said  the  Doctor. 
"  It  is  a  pity  to  take  the  boy  otherwise.  He  is  a  good 
boy,  rather  idle  and  unenergetic,  but  an  honest  gentle- 
manlike little  fellow,  though  I  can't  get  him  to  construe 
as  I  wish.  Won't  you  come  in  and  have  some  luncheon? 
My  wife  will  be  very  happy  to  see  you." 

But  Major  Pendennis  declined  the  luncheon.  He 
said  his  brother  was  very  ill,  had  had  a  fit  the  day  before, 
and  it  was  a  great  question  if  they  should  see  him  alive. 


PENDENNIS  29 

*  There's  no  other  son,  is  there? "  said  the  Doctor. 
The  Major  answered  "  No." 

"  And  there's  a  good  eh — a  good  eh — property,  I  be- 
lieve? "  asked  the  other  in  an  off-hand  way. 

"  H'm— so  so,"  said  the  Major.  Whereupon  this  col- 
loquy came  to  an  end.  And  Arthur  Pendennis  got  into 
a  post-chaise  with  his  uncle,  never  to  come  back  to  school 
any  more. 

As  the  chaise  drove  through  Clavering,  the  ostler 
standing  whistling  under  the  archway  of  the  Clavering 
Arms,  winked  to  the  postilion  ominously,  as  much  as  to 
say  all  was  over.  The  gardener's  wife  came  and  opened 
the  lodge-gates,  and  let  the  travellers  through  with  a 
silent  shake  of  the  head.  All  the  blinds  were  down  at 
Fairoaks — the  face  of  the  old  footman  was  as  blank 
when  he  let  them  in.  Arthur's  face  was  white  too,  with 
terror  more  than  with  grief.  Whatever  of  warmth  and 
love  the  deceased  man  might  have  had,  and  he  adored  his 
wife  and  loved  and  admired  his  son  with  all  his  heart,  he 
had  shut  them  up  within  himself;  nor  had  the  boy  been 
ever  able  to  penetrate  that  frigid  outward  barrier.  But 
Arthur  had  been  his  father's  pride  and  glory  through 
life,  and  his  name  the  last  which  John  Pendennis  had 
tried  to  articulate  whilst  he  lay  with  his  wife's  hand 
clasping  his  own  cold  and  clammy  palm,  as  the  flickering 
spirit  went  out  into  the  darkness  of  death,  and  life  and 
the  world  passed  away  from  him. 

The  little  girl,  whose  face  had  peered  for  a  moment 
under  the  blinds  as  the  chaise  came  up,  opened  the  door 
from  the  stairs  into  the  hall,  and  taking  Arthur's  hand 
silently  as  he  stooped  down  to  kiss  her,  led  him  up  stairs 
to  his  mother.  Old  John  opened  the  dining-room  for 
the  Major.  The  room  was  darkened  with  the  blinds 


30  PENDENNIS 

down,  and  surrounded  by  all  the  gloomy  pictures  of  the 
Pendennises.  He  drank  a  glass  of  wine.  The  bottle 
had  been  opened  for  the  Squire  four  days  before.  His 
hat  was  brushed,  and  laid  on  the  hall  table:  his  news- 
papers, and  his  letter  bag,  with  John  Pendennis,  Es- 
quire, Fairoaks,  engraved  upon  the  brass  plate,  were 
there  in  waiting.  The  doctor  and  the  lawyer  from 
Clavering,  who  had  seen  the  chaise  pass  through,  came 
up  in  a  gig  half  an  hour  after  the  Major's  arrival,  and 
entered  by  the  back  door.  The  former  gave  a  detailed 
account  of  the  seizure  and  demise  of  Mr.  Pendennis,  en- 
larged on  his  virtues  and  the  estimation  in  which  the 
neighbourhood  held  him;  on  what  a  loss  he  would  be  to 
the  magistrates'  bench,  the  County  Hospital,  &c.  Mrs. 
Pendennis  bore  up  wonderfully,  he  said,  especially  since 
Master  Arthur's  arrival.  The  lawyer  stayed  and  dined 
with  Major  Pendennis,  and  they  talked  business  all  the 
evening.  The  Major  was  his  brother's  executor,  and 
joint  guardian  to  the  boy  with  Mrs.  Pendennis.  Every- 
thing was  left  unreservedly  to  her,  except  in  case  of  a 
second  marriage, — an  occasion  which  might  offer  itself 
in  the  case  of  so  young  and  handsome  a  woman,  Mr. 
Tatham  gallantly  said,  when  different  provisions  were 
enacted  by  the  deceased.  The  Major  would  of  course 
take  entire  superintendence  of  everything  upon  this 
most  impressive  and  melancholy  occasion.  Aware  of 
this  authority,  old  John  the  footman,  when  he  brought 
Major  Pendennis  the  candle  to  go  to  bed,  followed  af- 
terwards with  the  plate-basket;  and  the  next  morning 
brought  him  the  key  of  the  hall  clock— the  Squire  always 
used  to  wind  it  up  of  a  Thursday,  John  said.  Mrs.  Pen- 
dennis's  maid  brought  him  messages  from  her  mistress. 


PENDENNIS 


31 


She  confirmed  the  doctor's  report,  of  the  comfort  which 
Master  Arthur's  arrival  had  caused  to  his  mother. 

What  passed  between  that  lady  and  the  boy  is  not  of 
import.  A  veil  should  be  thrown  over  those  sacred  emo- 
tions of  love  and  grief.  The  maternal  passion  is  a 
sacred  mystery  to  me.  What  one  sees  symbolized  in  the 
Roman  churches  in  the  image  of  the  Virgin  Mother  with 


a  bosom  bleeding  with  love,  I  think  one  may  witness 
(and  admire  the  Almighty  bounty  for)  every  day.  I 
saw  a  Jewish  lady,  only  yesterday,  with  a  child  at  her 
knee,  and  from  whose  face  towards  the  child  there  shone 
a  sweetness  so  angelical,  that  it  seemed  to  form  a  sort  of 
glory  round  both.  I  protest  I  could  have  knelt  before 
her  too,  and  adored  in  her  the  Divine  beneficence  in  en- 
dowing us  with  the  maternal  storgb,  which  began  with 
our  race  and  sanctifies  the  history  of  mankind. 


32  PENDENNIS 

As  for  Arthur  Pendennis,  after  that  awful  shock 
which  the  sight  of  his  dead  father  must  have  produced 
on  him,  and  the  pity  and  feeling  which  such  an  event  no 
doubt  occasioned,  I  am  not  sure  that  in  the  very  moment 
of  the  grief,  and  as  he  embraced  his  mother,  and  tenderly 
consoled  her,  and  promised  to  love  her  for  ever,  there 
was  not  springing  up  in  his  breast  a  sort  of  secret  tri- 
umph and  exultation.  He  was  the  chief  now  and  lord. 
He  was  Pendennis;  and  all  round  about  him  were  his 
servants  and  handmaids.  "  You'll  never  send  me  away," 
little  Laura  said,  tripping  by  him,  and  holding  his  hand. 
'  You  won't  send  me  to  school,  will  you,  Arthur? " 

Arthur  kissed  her  and  patted  her  head.  No,  she 
shouldn't  go  to  school.  As  for  going  himself,  that  was 
quite  out  of  the  question.  He  had  determined  that  that 
part  of  his  life  should  not  be  renewed.  In  the  midst  of 
the  general  grief,  and  the  corpse  still  lying  above,  he  had 
leisure  to  conclude  that  he  would  have  it  all  holidays  for 
the  future,  that  he  wouldn't  get  up  till  he  liked,  or  stand 
the  bullying  of  the  Doctor  any  more,  and  had  made  a 
hundred  of  such  day  dreams  and  resolves  for  the  future. 
How  one's  thoughts  will  travel!  and  how  quickly  our 
wishes  beget  them!  When  he  with  Laura  in  his  hand 
went  into  the  kitchen  on  his  way  to  the  dog-kennel,  the 
fowl-houses,  and  other  his  favourite  haunts,  all  the  ser- 
vants there  assembled  in  great  silence  with  their  friends, 
and  the  labouring  men  and  their  wives,  and  Sally  Potter 
who  went  with  the  post-bag  to  Clavering,  and  the 
baker's  man  from  Clavering— all  there  assembled  and 
drinking  beer  on  the  melancholy  occasion— rose  up  on 
his  entrance  and  bowed  or  curtseyed  to  him.  They  never 
used  to  do  so  last  holidays,  he  felt  at  once  and  with  in- 
describable pleasure.  The  cook  cried  out,  "  O  Lord," 


PENDENNIS  33 

and  whispered,  "How  Master  Arthur  do  grow!" 
Thomas,  the  groom,  in  the  act  of  drinking,  put  down  the 
jug  alarmed  before  his  master.  Thomas's  master  felt 
the  honour  keenly.  He  went  through  and  looked  at  the 
pointers.  As  Flora  put  her  nose  up  to  his  waistcoat, 
and  Ponto,  yelling  with  pleasure,  hurtled  at  his  chain, 
Pen  patronised  the  dogs,  and  said,  "  Poo  Ponto,  poo 
Flora,"  in  his  most  condescending  manner.  And  then 
he  went  and  looked  at  Laura's  hens,  and  at  the  pigs,  and 
at  the  orchard,  and  at  the  dairy;  perhaps  he  blushed  to 
think  that  it  was  only  last  holidays  he  had  in  a  manner 
robbed  the  great  apple-tree,  and  been  scolded  by  the 
dairymaid  for  taking  cream. 

They  buried  John  Pendennis,  Esquire,  "  formerly  an 
eminent  medical  practitioner  at  Bath  and  subsequently 
an  able  magistrate,  a  benevolent  landlord,  and  a  bene- 
factor to  many  charities  and  public  institutions  in  this 
neighbourhood  and  country,"  with  one  of  the  most  hand- 
some funerals  that  had  been  seen  since  Sir  Roger  Clav- 
ering  was  buried  here,  the  clerk  said,  in  the  abbey 
church  of  Clavering  St.  Mary's.  A  fair  marble  slab, 
from  which  the  above  inscription  is  copied,  was  erected 
over  the  Fairoaks'  pew  in  the  church.  On  it  you  may 
see  the  Pendennis  coat  of  arms  and  crest,  an  eagle  look- 
ing towards  the  sun,  with  the  motto  "  nee  tenui  pennd," 
to  the  present  day.  Doctor  Portman  alluded  to  the  de- 
ceased most  handsomely  and  affectingly,  as  "  our  dear 
departed  friend,"  in  his  sermon  next  Sunday;  and  Ar- 
thur Pendennis  reigned  in  his  stead. 


CHAPTER  III 


IN  WHICH  PENDENNIS  APPEARS  AS  A  VERY  YOUNG 
MAN    INDEED 

RTHUR  was  about  sixteen 
years  old,  we  have  said, 
when  he  began  to  reign; 
in  person,  he  had  what 
his  friends  would  call  a 
dumpy,  but  his  mamma 
styled  a  neat  little  figure. 
His  hair  was  of  a  healthy 
brown  colour,  which  looks 
like  gold  in  the  sunshine, 
his  face  was  round,  rosy, 
freckled,  and  good-hu- 
moured, his  whiskers  were 
decidedly  of  a  reddish  hue; 
in  fact,  without  being  a 
beauty,  he  had  such  a  frank, 
good-natured  kind  face,  and 
laughed  so  merrily  at  you 
out  of  his  honest  blue  eyes,  that  no  wonder  Mrs.  Pen- 
dennis  thought  him  the  pride  of  the  whole  country.  Be- 
tween the  ages  of  sixteen  and  eighteen  he  rose  from  five 
feet  six  to  five  feet  eight  inches  in  height,  at  which  alti- 
tude he  paused.  But  his  mother  wondered  at  it.  He 
was  three  inches  taller  than  his  father.  Was  it  possible 
that  any  man  could  grow  to  be  three  inches  taller  than 
Mr.  Pendennis? 

34 


PENDENNIS  35 

You  may  be  certain  he  never  went  back  to  school ;  the 
discipline  of  the  establishment  did  not  suit  him,  and  he 
liked  being  at  home  much  better.  The  question  of  his 
return  was  debated,  and  his  uncle  was  for  his  going 
back.  The  Doctor  wrote  his  opinion  that  it  was  most 
important  for  Arthur's  success  in  after-life  that  he 
should  know  a  Greek  play  thoroughly,  but  Pen  adroitly 
managed  to  hint  to  his  mother  what  a  dangerous  place 
Grey  Friars  was,  and  what  sad  wild  fellows  some  of  the 
chaps  there  were,  and  the  timid  soul,  taking  alarm  at 
once,  acceded  to  his  desire  to  stay  at  home. 

Then  Pen's  uncle  offered  to  use  his  influence  with  His 
Royal  Highness  the  Commander-in-Chief,  who  was 
pleased  to  be  very  kind  to  him,  and  proposed  to  get  Pen 
a  commission  in  the  Foot  Guards.  Pen's  heart  leaped 
at  this :  he  had  been  to  hear  the  band  at  St.  James's  play 
on  a  Sunday,  when  he  went  out  to  his  uncle.  He  had 
seen  Tom  Ricketts,  of  the  fourth  form,  who  used  to 
wear  a  jacket  and  trowsers  so  ludicrously  tight,  that  the 
elder  boys  could  not  forbear  using  him  in  the  quality  of 
a  butt  or  "  cockshy  " — he  had  seen  this  very  Ricketts 
arrayed  in  crimson  and  gold,  with  an  immense  bearskin 
cap  on  his  head,  staggering  under  the  colours  of  the 
regiment.  Tom  had  recognised  him  and  gave  him  a 
patronising  nod.  Tom,  a  little  wretch  whom  he  had 
cut  over  the  back  with  a  hockey-stick  last  quarter — and 
there  he  was  in  the  centre  of  the  square,  rallying  round 
the  flag  of  his  country,  surrounded  by  bayonets,  cross- 
belts,  and  scarlet,  the  band  blowing  trumpets  and  bang- 
ing cymbals — talking  familiarly  to  immense  warriors 
with  tufts  to  their  chins  and  Waterloo  medals.  What 
would  not  Pen  have  given  to  enter  such  a  service? 

But  Helen  Pendennis,  when  this  point  was  proposed 


36  PENDENNIS 

to  her  by  her  son,  put  on  a  face  full  of  terror  and  alarm. 
She  said  "  she  did  not  quarrel  with  others  who  thought 
differently,  but  that  in  her  opinion  a  Christian  had  no 
right  to  make  the  army  a  profession.  Mr.  Pendennis 
never,  never  would  have  permitted  his  son  to  be  a  sol- 
dier. Finally,  she  should  be  very  unhappy  if  he  thought 
of  it."  Now  Pen  would  have  as  soon  cut  off  his  nose 
and  ears  as  deliberately,  and  of  aforethought  malice, 
made  his  mother  unhappy;  and,  as  he  was  of  such  a 
generous  disposition  that  he  would  give  away  anything 
to  any  one,  he  instantly  made  a  present  of  his  visionary 
red  coat  and  epaulettes  to  his  mother. 

She  thought  him  the  noblest  creature  in  the  world. 
But  Major  Pendennis,  when  the  offer  of  the  commis- 
sion was  acknowledged  and  refused,  wrote  back  a  curt 
and  somewhat  angry  letter  to  the  widow,  and  thought 
his  nephew  was  rather  a  spooney. 

He  was  contented,  however,  when  he  saw  the  boy's 
performances  out  hunting  at  Christmas,  when  the  Ma- 
jor came  down  as  usual  to  Fairoaks.  Pen  had  a  very 
good  mare,  and  rode  her  with  uncommon  pluck  and 
grace.  He  took  his  fences  with  great  coolness  and 
judgment.  He  wrote  to  the  chaps  at  school  about  his 
top-boots,  and  his  feats  across  country.  He  began  to 
think  seriously  of  a  scarlet  coat:  and  his  mother  must 
own  that  she  thought  it  would  become  him  remarkably 
well ;  though,  of  course,  she  passed  hours  of  anguish  dur- 
ing his  absence,  and  daily  expected  to  see  him  brought 
home  on  a  shutter. 

With  these  amusements,  in  rather  too  great  plenty, 
it  must  not  be  assumed  that  Pen  neglected  his  studies 
altogether.  He  had  a  natural  taste  for  reading  every 
possible  kind  of  book  which  did  not  fall  into  his  school- 


PENDENNIS  37 

course.  It  was  only  when  they  forced  his  head  into  the 
waters  of  knowledge  that  he  refused  to  drink.  He  de- 
voured all  the  books  at  home,  from  Inchbald's  Theatre 
to  White's  Farriery;  he  ransacked  the  neighbouring 
book-cases.  He  found  at  Clavering  an  old  cargo  of 
French  novels,  which  he  read  with  all  his  might;  and 
he  would  sit  for  hours  perched  up  on  the  topmost  bar 
of  Doctor  Portman's  library  steps  with  a  folio  on  his 
knees,  whether  it  were  Hakluyt's  Travels,  Hobbes's  Le- 
viathan, Augustini  Opera,  or  Chaucer's  Poems.  He 
and  the  vicar  were  very  good  friends,  and  from  his  Rev- 
erence, Pen  learned  that  honest  taste  for  port  wine 
which  distinguished  him  through  life.  And  as  for  Mrs. 
Portman,  who  was  not  in  the  least  jealous,  though  her 
Doctor  avowed  himself  in  love  with  Mrs.  Pendennis, 
whom  he  pronounced  to  be  by  far  the  finest  lady  in  the 
country— all  her  grief  was,  as  she  looked  up  fondly  at 
Pen  perched  on  the  book-ladder,  that  her  daughter, 
Minny,  was  too  old  for  him — as  indeed  she  was — Miss 
Mira  Portman  being  at  that  period  only  two  years 
younger  than  Pen's  mother,  and  weighing  as  much  as 
Pen  and  Mrs.  Pendennis  together. 

Are  these  details  insipid?  Look  back,  good  friend, 
at  your  own  youth,  and  ask  how  was  that?  I  like  to 
think  of  a  well-nurtured  boy,  brave  and  gentle,  warm- 
hearted and  loving,  and  looking  the  world  in  the  face 
with  kind  honest  eyes.  What  bright  colours  it  wore 
then,  and  how  you  enjoyed  it!  A  man  has  not  many 
years  of  such  time.  He  does  not  know  them  whilst  they 
are  with  him.  It  is  only  when  they  are  passed  long  away 
that  he  remembers  how  dear  and  happy  they  were. 

Mr.  Smirke,  Dr.  Portman's  curate,  was  engaged,  at 
a  liberal  salary,  to  walk  or  ride  over  from  Clavering  and 


38  PENDENNIS 

pass  several  hours  daily  with  the  young  gentleman. 
Smirke  was  a  man  perfectly  faultless  at  a  tea-table, 
wore  a  curl  on  his  fair  forehead,  and  tied  his  neck-cloth 
with  a  melancholy  grace.  He  was  a  decent  scholar  and 
mathematician,  and  taught  Pen  as  much  as  the  lad  was 
ever  disposed  to  learn,  which  was  not  much.  For  Pen 
had  soon  taken  the  measure  of  his  tutor,  who,  when  he 
came  riding  into  the  court-yard  at  Fairoaks  on  his  pony, 
turned  out  his  toes  so  absurdly,  and  left  such  a  gap  be- 
tween his  knees  and  the  saddle,  that  it  was  impossible  for 
any  lad  endowed  with  a  sense  of  humour  to  respect  such 
an  equestrian.  He  nearly  killed  Smirke  with  terror 
by  putting  him  on  his  mare,  and  taking  him  a  ride  over 
a  common,  where  the  county  fox-hounds  (then  hunted  by 
that  staunch  old  sportsman,  Mr.  Hardhead,  of  Dump- 
lingbeare)  happened  to  meet.  Mr.  Smirke,  on  Pen's 
mare,  Rebecca  (she  was  named  after  Pen's  favourite 
heroine,  the  daughter  of  Isaac  of  York),  astounded  the 
hounds  as  much  as  he  disgusted  the  huntsman,  laming 
one  of  the  former  by  persisting  in  riding  amongst  the 
pack,  and  receiving  a  speech  from  the  latter,  more  re- 
markable for  energy  of  language,  than  any  oration  he 
had  ever  heard  since  he  left  the  bargemen  on  the  banks 
of  the  Isis. 

Smirke  and  his  pupil  read  the  ancient  poets  together, 
and  rattled  through  them  at  a  pleasant  rate,  very  dif- 
ferent from  that  steady  grubbing  pace  with  which  the 
Cistercians  used  to  go  over  the  classic  ground,  scenting 
out  each  word  as  they  went,  and  digging  up  every  root 
in  the  way.  Pen  never  liked  to  halt,  but  made  his  tutor 
construe  when  he  was  at  fault,  and  thus  galloped 
through  the  Iliad  and  the  Odyssey,  the  tragic  play- 
writers,  and  the  charming  wicked  Aristophanes  (whom 


PENDENNIS  39 

he  vowed  to  be  the  greatest  poet  of  all ) .  But  he  went 
so  fast  that,  though  he  certainly  galloped  through  a  con- 
siderable extent  of  the  ancient  country,  he  clean  forgot 
it  in  after-life,  and  had  only  such  a  vague  remembrance 
of  his  early  classic  course  as  a  man  has  in  the  House  of 
Commons,  let  us  say,  who  still  keeps  up  two  or  three 
quotations;  or  a  reviewer  who,  just  for  decency's  sake, 
hints  at  a  little  Greek. 

Besides  the  ancient  poets,  you  may  be  sure  Pen  read 
the  English  with  great  gusto.  Smirke  sighed  and  shook 
his  head  sadly  both  about  Byron  and  Moore.  But  Pen 
was  a  sworn  fire-worshipper  and  a  Corsair ;  he  had  them 
by  heart,  and  used  to  take  little  Laura  into  the  window 
and  say,  "  Zuleika,  I  am  not  thy  brother,"  in  tones 
so  tragic,  that  they  caused  the  solemn  little  maid  to 
open  her  great  eyes  still  wider.  She  sat,  until  the 
proper  hour  for  retirement,  sewing  at  Mrs.  Penden- 
nis's'  knee,  and  listening  to  Pen  reading  out  to  her  of 
nights  without  comprehending  one  word  of  what  he 
read. 

He  read  Shakspeare  to  his  mother  (which  she  said 
she  liked,  but  didn't),  and  Byron,  and  Pope,  and  his  fa- 
vourite Lalla  Rookh,  which  pleased  her  indifferently. 
But  as  for  Bishop  Heber,  and  Mrs.  Hemans  above  all, 
this  lady  used  to  melt  right  away,  and  be  absorbed  into 
her  pocket-handkerchief,  when  Pen  read  those  authors 
to  her  in  his  kind  boyish  voice.  The  "  Christian  Year  " 
was  a  book  which  appeared  about  that  time.  The  son 
and  the  mother  whispered  it  to  each  other  with  awe— 
Faint,  very  faint,  and  seldom  in  after-life  Pendennis 
heard  that  solemn  church-music:  but  he  always  loved 
the  remembrance  of  it,  and  of  the  times  when  it  struck 
on  his  heart,  and  he  walked  over  the  fields  full  of  hope 


40  PENDENNIS 

and  void  of  doubt,  as  the  church-bells  rang  out  on  Sun- 
day morning. 

It  was  at  this  period  of  his  existence,  that  Pen  broke 
out  in  the  Poets'  Corner  of  the  County  Chronicle,  with 
some  verses  with  which  he  was  perfectly  well  satisfied. 
His  are  the  verses  signed  "  NEP.,"  addressed  "  To  a 
Tear; "  "  On  the  Anniversary  of  the  Battle  of  Water- 
loo ;  "  '  To  Madame  Caradori  singing  at  the  Assize 
Meetings;"  "On  Saint  Bartholomew's  Day"  (a  tre- 
mendous denunciation  of  Popery  and  a  solemn  warning 
to  the  people  of  England  to  rally  against  emancipating 
the  Roman  Catholics),  &c.,  &c. — all  which  masterpieces, 
poor  Mrs.  Pendennis  kept  along  with  his  first  socks,  the 
first  cutting  of  his  hair,  his  bottle,  and  other  interest- 
ing relics  of  his  infancy.  He  used  to  gallop  Rebecca 
over  the  neighbouring  Dumpling  Downs,  or  into  the 
county  town,  which,  if  you  please,  we  shall  call  Chat- 
teris,  spouting  his  own  poems,  and  filled  with  quite  a 
Byronic  afflatus  as  he  thought. 

His  genius  at  this  time  was  of  a  decidedly  gloomy 
cast.  He  brought  his  mother  a  tragedy,  at  which,  though 
he  killed  sixteen  people  before  the  second  act,  Helen 
laughed  so,  that  he  thrust  the  master-piece  into  the  fire 
in  a  pet.  He  projected  an  epic  poem  in  blank  verse, 
"  Cortez,  or  the  Conqueror  of  Mexico,  and  the  Inca's 
daughter."  He  wrote  part  of  "  Seneca,  or  the  Fatal 
Bath,"  and  "  Ariadne  in  Naxos; "  classical  pieces,  with 
choruses  and  strophes  and  antistrophes,  which  sadly  puz- 
zled Mrs.  Pendennis;  and  began  a  "  History  of  the 
Jesuits,"  in  which  he  lashed  that  Order  with  tremendous 
severity.  His  loyalty  did  his  mother's  heart  good  to 
witness.  He  was  a  staunch,  unflinching  Church-and- 
King  man  in  those  days;  and  at  the  election,  when  Sir 


PENDENNIS  41 

Giles  Beanfield  stood  on  the  Blue  interest,  against  Lord 
Trehawk,  Lord  Eyrie's  son,  a  Whig  and  a  friend  of 
Popery,  Arthur  Pendennis,  with  an  immense  bow  for 
himself,  which  his  mother  made,  and  with  a  blue  ribbon 
for  Rebecca,  rode  alongside  of  the  Reverend  Doctor 
Portman,  on  his  grey  mare  Dowdy,  and  at  the  head  of 
the  Clavering  voters,  whom  the  Doctor  brought  up  to 
plump  for  the  Protestant  Champion. 

On  that  day  Pen  made  his  first  speech  at  the  Blue 
Hotel:  and  also,  it  appears,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life 
— took  a  little  more  wine  than  was  good  for  him. 
Mercy!  what  a  scene  it  was  at  Fairoaks,  when  he  rode 
back  at  ever  so  much  o'clock  at  night.  What  moving 
about  of  lanterns  in  the  court-yards  and  stables,  though 
the  moon  was  shining  out ;  what  a  gathering  of  servants, 
as  Pen  came  home,  clattering  over  the  bridge  and  up 
the  stable-yard,  with  half -a-score  of  the  Clavering  voters 
yelling  after  him  the  Blue  song  of  the  election. 

He  wanted  them  all  to  come  in  and  have  some  wine— 
some  very  good  Madeira— some  capital  Madeira— John 
go  and  get  some  Madeira, — and  there  is  no  knowing 
what  the  farmers  would  have  done,  had  not  Madam 
Pendennis  made  her  appearance  in  a  white  wrapper 
with  a  candle— and  scared  those  zealous  Blues  so  by  the 
sight  of  her  pale  handsome  face,  that  they  touched  their 
hats  and  rode  off. 

Besides  these  amusements  and  occupations  in  which 
Mr.  Pen  indulged,  there  was  one  which  forms  the  main 
business  and  pleasure  of  youth,  if  the  poets  tell  us  aright, 
whom  Pen  was  always  studying;  and  which,  ladies,  you 
have  rightly  guessed  to  be  that  of  Love.  Pen  sighed 
for  it  first  in  secret,  and,  like  the  love-sick  swain  in  Ovid, 
opened  his  breast  and  said,  "  Aura,-veni."  What  gener- 


42  PENDENNIS 

ous  youth  is  there  that  has  not  courted  some  such  windy 
mistress  in  his  time? 

Yes,  Pen  began  to  feel  the  necessity  of  a  first  love— 
of  a  consuming  passion— of  an  object  on  which  he  could 
concentrate  all  those  vague  floating  fancies  under  which 
he  sweetly  suffered— of  a  young  lady  to  whom  he  could 
really  make  verses,  and  whom  he  could  set  up  and  adore, 
in  place  of  those  unsubstantial  lanthes  and  Zuleikas  to 
whom  he  addressed  the  outpourings  of  his  gushing  muse. 
He  read  his  favourite  poems  over  and  over  again,  he 
called  upon  Alma  Venus  the  delight  of  gods  and  men, 
he  translated  Anacreon's  odes,  and  picked  out  passages 
suitable  to  his  complaint  from  Waller,  Dryden,  Prior, 
and  the  like.  Smirke  and  he  were  never  weary,  in  their 
interviews,  of  discoursing  about  love.  The  faithless 
tutor  entertained  him  with  sentimental  conversations 
in  place  of  lectures  on  algebra  and  Greek;  for  Smirke 
was  in  love  too.  Who  could  help  it,  being  in  daily  inter- 
course with  such  a  woman?  Smirke  was  madly  in  love 
(as  far  as  such  a  mild  flame  as  Mr.  Smirke's  may  be 
called  madness)  with  Mrs.  Pendennis.  That  honest  lady, 
sitting  down  below  stairs  teaching  little  Laura  to  play 
the  piano,  or  devising  flannel  petticoats  for  the  poor 
round  about  her,  or  otherwise  busied  with  the  calm  rou- 
tine of  her  modest  and  spotless  Christian  life,  was  little 
aware  what  storms  were  brewing  in  two  bosoms  up  stairs 
in  the  study — in  Pen's  as  he  sate  in  his  shooting- jacket, 
with  his  elbows  on  the  green  study-table,  and  his  hands 
clutching  his  curly  brown  hair,  Homer  under  his  nose,— 
and  in  worthy  Mr.  Smirke's,  with  whom  he  was  reading. 
Here  they  would  talk  about  Helen  and  Andromache. 
"  Andromache's  like  my  mother,"  Pen  used  to  avouch ; 
"  but  I  say,  Smirke,  by  Jove  I'd  cut  off  my  nose  to  see 


PENDENNIS  43 

Helen;"  and  he  would  spout  certain  favourite  lines 
which  the  reader  will  find  in  their  proper  place  in  the 
third  book.  He  drew  portraits  of  her— they  are  extant 
still — with  straight  noses  and  enormous  eyes,  and  "  Ar- 
thur Pendennis  delineavit  et  pinxit "  gallantly  written 
underneath. 

As  for  Mr.  Smirke  he  naturally  preferred  Androm- 
ache. And  in  consequence  he  was  uncommonly  kind 
to  Pen.  He  gave  him  his  Elzevir  Horace,  of  which  the 
boy  was  fond,  and  his  little  Greek  Testament  which  his 
own  mamma  at  Clapham  had  purchased  and  presented 
to  him.  He  bought  him  a  silver  pencil  case ;  and  in  the 
matter  of  learning  let  him  do  just  as  much  or  as  little 
as  ever  he  pleased.  He  always  seemed  to  be  on  the  point 
of  unbosoming  himself  to  Pen:  nay,  he  confessed  to 
the  latter  that  he  had  a — an  attachment,  an  ardently 
cherished  attachment,  about  which  Pendennis  longed  to 
hear,  and  said,  "  Tell  us,  old  chap,  is  she  handsome?  has 
she  got  blue  eyes  or  black?"  But  Doctor  Portman's 
curate,  heaving  a  gentle  sigh,  cast  up  his  eyes  to  the  ceil- 
ing, and  begged  Pen  faintly  to  change  the  conversation. 
Poor  Smirke!  He  invited  Pen  to  dine  at  his  lodgings 
over  Madame  Fribsby's,  the  milliner's  in  Clavering,  and 
once  when  it  was  raining,  and  Mrs.  Pendennis,  who  had 
driven  in  her  pony-chaise  into  Clavering  with  respect  to 
some  arrangements,  about  leaving  off  mourning  proba- 
bly, was  prevailed  upon  to  enter  the  curate's  apartments, 
he  sent  for  pound-cakes  instantly.  The  sofa  on  which 
she  sate  became  sacred  to  him  from  that  day:  and  he 
kept  flowers  in  the  glass  which  she  drank  from  ever 
after. 

As  Mrs.  Pendennis  was  never  tired  of  hearing  the 
praises  of  her  son,  we  may  be  certain  that  this  rogue 


44,  PENDENNIS 

of  a  tutor  neglected  no  opportunity  of  conversing  with 
her  upon  the  subject.  It  might  be  a  little  tedious  to 
him  to  hear  the  stories  about  Pen's  generosity,  about  his 
bravery  in  fighting  the  big  naughty  boy,  about  his  fun 
and  jokes,  about  his  prodigious  skill  in  Latin,  music, 
riding,  &c.— but  what  price  would  he  not  pay  to  be  in 
her  company?  and  the  widow,  after  these  conversations, 
thought  Mr.  Smirke  a  very  pleasing  and  well-informed 
man.  As  for  her  son,  she  had  not  settled  in  her  mind, 
whether  he  was  to  be  Senior  Wrangler  and  Archbishop 
of  Canterbury,  or  Double  First  Class  at  Oxford,  and 
Lord  Chancellor.  That  all  England  did  not  possess 
his  peer,  was  a  fact  about  which  there  was,  in  her  mind, 
no  manner  of  question. 

A  simple  person,  of  inexpensive  habits,  she  began 
forthwith  to  save,  and,  perhaps,  to  be  a  little  parsimoni- 
ous, in  favour  of  her  boy.  There  were  no  entertain- 
ments, of  course,  at  Fairoaks,  during  the  year  of  her 
weeds.  Nor,  indeed,  did  the  Doctor's  silver  dish-covers, 
of  which  he  was  so  proud,  and  which  were  flourished  all 
over  with  the  arms  of  the  Pendennises,  and  surmounted 
with  their  crest,  come  out  of  the  plate-chest  again  for 
long,  long  years.  The  household  was  diminished,  and  its 
expenses  curtailed.  There  was  a  very  blank  anchorite 
repast  when  Pen  dined  from  home:  and  he  himself 
headed  the  remonstrance  from  the  kitchen  regarding 
the  deteriorated  quality  of  the  Fairoaks  beer.  She 
was  becoming  miserly  for  Pen.  Indeed,  who  ever  ac- 
cused women  of  being  just?  They  are  always  sacrific- 
ing themselves  or  somebody  for  somebody  else's  sake. 

There  happened  to  be  no  young  woman  in  the  small 
circle  of  friends  who  were  in  the  widow's  intimacy  whom 
Pendennis  could  by  any  possibility  grajtify  by  endowing 


PENDENNIS  45 

her  with  the  inestimable  treasure  of  a  heart  which  he 
was  longing  to  give  away.  Some  young  fellows  in  this 
predicament  bestow  their  young  affections  upon  Dolly, 
the  dairymaid,  or  cast  the  eyes  of  tenderness  upon 
Molly,  the  blacksmith's  daughter.  Pen  thought  a  Pen- 
dennis  much  too  grand  a  personage  to  stoop  so  low. 
He  was  too  high-minded  for  a  vulgar  intrigue,  and  at 
the  idea  of  a  seduction,  had  he  ever  entertained  it,  his 
heart  would  have  revolted  as  from  the  notion  of  any  act 
of  baseness  or  dishonour.  Miss  Mira  Portman  was  too 
old,  too  large,  and  too  fond  of  reading  "  Rollin's  An- 
cient History."  The  Miss  Boardbacks,  Admiral  Board- 
back's  daughters  (of  St.  Vincent's,  or  Fourth  of  June 
House,  as  it  was  called),  disgusted  Pen  with  the  Lon- 
don airs  which  they  brought  into  the  country.  Captain 
Glanders's  (H.  P.,  50th  Dragoon  Guards)  three  girls 
were  in  brown-holland  pinafores  as  yet,  with  the  ends 
of  their  hair-plaits  tied  up  in  dirty  pink  ribbon.  Not 
having  acquired  the  art  of  dancing,  the  youth  avoided 
such  chances  as  he  might  have  had  of  meeting  with  the 
fair  sex  at  the  Chatteris  Assemblies ;  in  fine,  he  was  not 
in  love,  because  there  was  nobody  at  hand  to  fall  in  love 
with.  And  the  young  monkey  used  to  ride  out,  day 
after  day,  in  quest  of  Dulcinea ;  and  peep  into  the  pony- 
chaises  and  gentlefolks'  carriages,  as  they  drove  along 
the  broad  turnpike  roads,  with  a  heart  beating  within 
him,  and  a  secret  tremor  and  hope  that  she  might  be  in 
that  yellow  post-chaise  coming  swinging  up  the  hill,  or 
one  of  those  three  girls  in  beaver  bonnets  in  the  back  seat 
of  the  double  gig,  which  the  fat  old  gentleman  in  black 
was  driving,  at  four  miles  an  hour.  The  post-chaise 
contained  a  snuffy  old  dowager  of  seventy,  with  a  maid, 
her  contemporary.  The  three  girls  in  the  beaver  bonnets 


46  PENDENNIS 

were  no  handsomer  than  the  turnips  that  skirted  the 
roadside.  Do  as  he  might,  and  ride  where  he  would, 
the  fairy  princess  whom  he  was  to  rescue  and  win,  had 
not  yet  appeared  to  honest  Pen. 

Upon  these  points  he  did  not  discourse  to  his  mother. 
He  had  a  world  of  his  own.  What  ardent,  imaginative 
soul  has  not  a  secret  pleasure-place  in  which  it  disports  ? 
Let  no  clumsy  prying  or  dull  meddling  of  ours  try  to 
disturb  it  in  our  children.  Actaeon  was  a  brute  for  want- 
ing to  push  in  where  Diana  was  bathing.  Leave  him 
occasionally  alone,  my  good  madam,  if  you  have  a  poet 
for  a  child.  Even  your  admirable  advice  may  be  a  bore 
sometimes.  Yonder  little  child  may  have  thoughts  too 
deep  even  for  your  great  mind,  and  fancies  so  coy  and 
timid  that  they  will  not  bare  themselves  when  your  lady- 
ship sits  by. 

Helen  Pendennis  by  the  force  of  sheer  love  divined 
a  great  number  of  her  son's  secrets.  But  she  kept  these 
things  in  her  heart  (if  we  may  so  speak),  and  did  not 
speak  of  them.  Besides,  she  had  made  up  her  mind  that 
he  was  to  marry  little  Laura:  she  would  be  eighteen 
when  Pen  was  six-and-twenty ;  and  had  finished  his 
college  career;  and  had  made  his  grand  tour;  and  was 
settled  either  in  London,  astonishing  all  the  metropolis 
by  his  learning  and  eloquence  at  the  bar,  or  better  still 
in  a  sweet  country  parsonage  surrounded  with  holly- 
hocks and  roses,  close  to  a  delightful  romantic  ivy-cov- 
ered church,  from  the  pulpit  of  which  Pen  would  utter 
the  most  beautiful  sermons  ever  preached. 

While  these  natural  sentiments  were  waging  war  and 
trouble  in  honest  Pen's  bosom,  it  chanced  one  day  that 


PENDENNIS  47 

he  rode  into  Chatteris  for  the  purpose  of  carrying  to 
the  County  Chronicle  a  tremendous  and  thrilling  poem 
for  the  next  week's  paper ;  and  putting  up  his  horse  ac- 
cording to  custom,  at  the  stables  of  the  George  Hotel 
there,  he  fell  in  with  an  old  acquaintance.  A  grand 
black  tandem,  with  scarlet  wheels,  came  rattling  into 
the  inn  yard,  as  Pen  stood  there  in  converse  with  the 
ostler  about  Rebecca ;  and  the  voice  of  the  driver  called 
out,  "  Hallo,  Pendennis,  is  that  you? "  in  a  loud  patro- 
nising manner.  Pen  had  some  difficulty  in  recognising, 
under  the  broad-brimmed  hat  and  the  vast  greatcoats  and 
neck-cloths,  with  which  the  new  comer  was  habited,  the 
person  and  figure  of  his  quondam  schoolfellow,  Mr. 
Foker. 

A  year's  absence  had  made  no  small  difference  in  that 
gentleman.  A  youth  who  had  been  deservedly  whipped 
a  few  months  previously,  and  who  spent  his  pocket- 
money  on  tarts  and  hardbake,  now  appeared  before  Pen 
in  one  of  those  costumes  to  which  the  public  consent, 
which  I  take  to  be  quite  as  influential  in  this  respect  as 
"  Johnson's  Dictionary,"  has  awarded  the  title  of 
"  Swell."  He  had  a  bull-dog  between  his  legs,  and  in 
his  scarlet  shawl  neck -cloth  was  a  pin  representing  an- 
other bull-dog  in  gold:  he  wore  a  fur  waistcoat  laced 
over  with  gold  chains ;  a  green  cut-away  coat  with  bas- 
ket buttons,  and  a  white  upper-coat  ornamented  with 
cheese-plate  buttons,  on  each  of  which  was  engraved 
some  stirring  incident  of  the  road  or  the  chase;  all  of 
which  ornaments  set  off  this  young  fellow's  figure  to 
such  advantage,  that  you  would  hesitate  to  say  which 
character  in  life  he  most  resembled,  and  whether  he  was 
a  boxer  en  goguette,  or  a  coachman  in  his  gala  suit. 


48  PENDENNIS 

"  Left  that  place  for  good,  Pendennis?"  Mr.  Foker 
said,  descending  from  his  landau  and  giving  Pendennis 
a  finger. 

*  Yes,  this  year  or  more,"  Pen  said. 

"  Beastly  old  hole,"  Mr.  Foker  remarked.  "  Hate 
it.  Hate  the  Doctor:  hate  Towzer,  the  second  master; 
hate  everybody  there.  Not  a  fit  place  for  a  gentleman." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Pen,  with  an  air  of  the  utmost  con- 
sequence. 

"  By  gad,  sir,  I  sometimes  dream,  now,  that  the  Doc- 
tor's walking  into  me,"  Foker  continued  (and  Pen 
smiled  as  he  thought  that  he  himself  had  likewise  fear 
ful  dreams  of  this  nature) .  '  When  I  think  of  the  diet 
there,  by  gad,  sir,  I  wonder  how  I  stood  it.  Mangy 
mutton,  brutal  beef,  pudding  on  Thursdays  and  Sun- 
days, and  that  fit  to  poison  you.  Just  look  at  my  leader 
— did  you  ever  see  a  prettier  animal?  Drove  over  from 
Baymouth.  Came  the  nine  mile  in  two-and-forty  min- 
utes. Not  bad  going,  sir." 

"Are  you  stopping  at  Baymouth,  Foker?"  Penden- 
nis asked. 

"  I'm  coaching  there,"  said  the  other  with  a  nod. 

"  What?  "  asked  Pen,  and  in  a  tone  of  such  wonder, 
that  Foker  burst  out  laughing,  and  said,  "  He  was 
blowed  if  he  didn't  think  Pen  was  such  a  flat  as  not  to 
know  what  coaching  meant." 

"  I'm  come  down  with  a  coach  from  Oxbridge.  A 
tutor,  don't  you  see,  old  boy?  He's  coaching  me,  and 
some  other  men,  for  the  little  go.  Me  and  Spavin  have 
the  drag  between  us.  And  I  thought  I'd  just  tool  over 
and  go  to  the  play.  Did  you  ever  see  Rowkins  do  the 
hornpipe? "  and  Mr.  Foker  began  to  perform  some 
steps  of  that  popular  dance  in  the  inn  yard,  looking 


PENDENNIS  49 

round  for  the  sympathy  of  his  groom,  and  the  stable 
men. 

Pen  thought  he  would  like  to  go  to  the  play  too :  and 
could  ride  home  afterwards,  as  there  was  a  moonlight. 
So  he  accepted  Foker's  invitation  to  dinner,  and  the 
young  men  entered  the  inn  together,  where  Mr.  Foker 
stopped  at  the  bar,  and  called  upon  Miss  Rummer,  the 
landlady's  fair  daughter,  who  presided  there,  to  give 
him  a  glass  of  "  his  mixture." 

Pen  and  his  family  had  been  known  at  the  George 
ever  since  they  came  into  the  county;  and  Mr.  Pen- 
dennis's  carriage  and  horses  always  put  up  there  when 
he  paid  a  visit  to  the  county  town.  The  landlady 
dropped  the  heir  of  Fairoaks  a  very  respectful  curtsey, 
and  complimented  him  upon  his  growth  and  manly  ap- 
pearance, and  asked  news  of  the  family  at  Fairoaks, 
and  of  Dr.  Portman  and  the  Clavering  people,  to  all 
of  which  questions  the  young  gentleman  answered  with 
much  affability.  But  he  spoke  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Rum- 
mer with  that  sort  of  good  nature  with  which  a  young 
Prince  addresses  his  father's  subjects;  never  dreaming 
that  those  "  bonnes  gens  "  were  his  equals  in  life. 

Mr.  Foker's  behaviour  was  quite  different.  He  in- 
quired for  Rummer  and  the  cold  in  his  nose,  told  Mrs. 
Rummer  a  riddle,  asked  Miss  Rummer  when  she  would 
be  ready  to  marry  him,  and  paid  his  compliments  to  Miss 
Brett,  the  other  young  lady  in  the  bar,  all  in  a  minute  of 
time,  and  with  a  liveliness  and  facetiousness  which  set 
all  these  ladies  in  a  giggle ;  and  he  gave  a  cluck,  expres- 
sive of  great  satisfaction,  as  he  tossed  off  his  mixture 
which  Miss  Rummer  prepared  and  handed  to  him. 

"  Have  a  drop,"  said  he  to  Pen.  "  Give  the  young 
one  a  glass,  R.,  and  score  it  up  to  yours  truly." 


50  PENDENNIS 

Poor  Pen  took  a  glass,  and  everybody  laughed  at  the 
face  which  he  made  as  he  put  it  down — Gin,  bitters,  and 
some  other  cordial,  was  the  compound  with  which  Mr. 
Foker  was  so  delighted  as  to  call  it  by  the  name  of 
Foker's  own.  As  Pen  choked,  sputtered,  and  made 
faces,  the  other  took  occasion  to  remark  to  Mr.  Rummer 
that  the  young  fellow  was  green,  very  green,  but  that  he 
would  soon  form  him ;  and  then  they  proceeded  to  order 
dinner — which  Mr.  Foker  determined  should  consist  of 
turtle  and  venison;  cautioning  the  landlady  to  be  very 
particular  about  icing  the  wine. 

Then  Messrs.  Foker  and  Pen  strolled  down  the  High 
Street  together — the  former  having  a  cigar  in  his  mouth, 
which  he  had  drawn  out  of  a  case  almost  as  big  as  a 
portmanteau.  He  went  in  to  replenish  it  at  Mr.  Lewis's, 
and  talked  to  that  gentleman  for  a  while,  sitting  down 
on  the  counter:  he  then  looked  in  at  the  fruiterer's,  to 
see  the  pretty  girl  there:  then  they  passed  the  County 
Chronicle  office,  for  which  Pen  had  his  packet  ready, 
in  the  shape  of  "  Lines  to  Thyrza,"  but  poor  Pen  did 
not  like  to  put  the  letter  into  the  editor's  box  while  walk- 
ing in  company  with  such  a  fine  gentleman  as  Mr. 
Foker.  They  met  heavy  dragoons  of  the  regiment  al- 
ways quartered  at  Chatteris;  and  stopped  and  talked 
about  the  Baymouth  balls,  and  what  a  pretty  girl  was 
Miss  Brown,  and  what  a  dem  fine  woman  Mrs.  Jones 
was.  It  was  in  vain  that  Pen  recalled  to  his  own  mind 
how  stupid  Foker  used  to  be  at  school — how  he  could 
scarcely  read,  how  he  was  not  cleanly  in  his  person,  and 
notorious  for  his  blunders  and  dullness.  Mr.  Foker  was 
not  much  more  refined  now  than  in  his  school  days :  and 
yet  Pen  felt  a  secret  pride  in  strutting  down  High  Street 
with  a  young  fellow  who  owned  tandems,  talked  to  of- 


Youth  between  Pleasure 
and  Duty 


PENDENNIS  51 

ficers,  and  ordered  turtle  and  champagne  for  dinner. 
He  listened,  and  with  respect  too,  to  Mr.  Foker's  ac- 
counts of  what  the  men  did  at  the  University  of  which 
Mr.  F.  was  an  ornament,  and  encountered  a  long  series 
of  stories  about  boat-racing,  bumping,  College  grass- 
plats,  and  milk-punch — and  began  to  wish  to  go  up  him- 
self to  College  to  a  place  where  there  were  such  manly 
pleasures  and  enjoyments.  Farmer  Gurnett,  who  lives 
close  by  Fairoaks,  riding  by  at  this  minute  and  touching 
his  hat  to  Pen,  the  latter  stopped  him,  and  sent  a  message 
to  his  mother  to  say  that  he  had  met  with  an  old  school- 
fellow, and  should  dine  in  Chatteris. 

The  two  young  gentlemen  continued  their  walk,  and 
were  passing  round  the  Cathedral  Yard,  where  they 
could  hear  the  music  of  the  afternoon  service  (a  music 
which  always  exceedingly  affected  Pen),  but  whither 
Mr.  Foker  came  for  the  purpose  of  inspecting  the  nur- 
sery maids  who  frequent  the  Elms  Walk  there,  and 
here  they  strolled  until  with  a  final  burst  of  music  the 
small  congregation  was  played  out. 

Old  Doctor  Portman  was  one  of  the  few  who  came 
from  the  venerable  gate.  Spying  Pen,  he  came  and 
shook  him  by  the  hand,  and  eyed  with  wonder  Pen's 
friend,  from  whose  mouth  and  cigar  clouds  of  fragrance 
issued,  which  curled  round  the  Doctor's  honest  face  and 
shovel  hat. 

"  An  old  schoolfellow  of  mine,  Mr.  Foker,"  said  Pen. 
The  Doctor  said  "H'm":  and  scowled  at  the  cigar. 
He  did  not  mind  a  pipe  in  his  study,  but  the  cigar  was 
an  abomination  to  the  worthy  gentleman. 

"  I  came  up  on  Bishop's  business,"  the  Doctor  said. 
'  We'll  ride  home,  Arthur,  if  you  like?  " 

"  I— I'm  engaged  to  my  friend  here,"  Pen  answered. 


52  PENDENNIS 

'  You  had  better  come  home  with  me,"  said  the 
Doctor. 

"  His  mother  knows  he's  out,  sir,"  Mr.  Foker  re- 
marked: "  don't  she,  Pendennis?  " 

"  But  that  does  not  prove  that  he  had  not  better  come 
home  with  me,"  the  Doctor  growled,  and  he  walked  off 
with  great  dignity. 

"  Old  boy  don't  like  the  weed,  I  suppose,"  Foker  said. 
"  Hal  who's  here?— here's  the  General,  and  Bingley,  the 
manager.  How  do,  Cos?  How  do,  Bingley?  " 

"  How  does  my  worthy  and  gallant  young  Foker? " 
said  the  gentleman  addressed  as  the  General;  and  who 
wore  a  shabby  military  cape  with  a  mangy  collar,  and 
a  hat  cocked  very  much  over  one  eye. 

"  Trust  you  are  very  well,  my  very  dear  sir,"  said  the 
other  gentleman,  "  and  that  the  Theatre  Royal  will  have 
the  honour  of  your  patronage  to-night.  We  perform 
*  The  Stranger,'  in  which  your  humble  servant  will— 

"  Can't  stand  you  in  tights  and  Hessians,  Bingley," 
young  Mr.  Foker  said.  On  which  the  General,  with  the 
Irish  accent,  said,  "  But  I  think  ye'll  like  Miss  Fother- 
ingay,  in  Mrs.  Haller,  or  me  name's  not  Jack  Costigan." 

Pen  looked  at  these  individuals  with  the  greatest  in- 
terest. He  had  never  seen  an  actor  before ;  and  he  saw 
Dr.  Portman's  red  face  looking  over  the  Doctor's 
shoulder,  as  he  retreated  from  the  Cathedral  Yard,  evi- 
dently quite  dissatisfied  with  the  acquaintances  into 
whose  hands  Pen  had  fallen. 

Perhaps  it  would  have  been  much  better  for  him  had 
he  taken  the  parson's  advice  and  company  home.  But 
which  of  us  knows  his  fate? 


CHAPTER   IV 


MRS.  HALLER 

AVING  returned  to  the 
George,  Mr.  Foker 
and  his  guest  sate 
down  to  a  handsome 
repast  in  the  coffee- 
room  ;  where  Mr. 
Rummer  brought  in 
the  first  dish,  and 
bowed  asf  gravely  as 
if  he  was  waiting  up- 
on the  Lord-Lieu- 
tenant of  the  county. 
Pen  could  not  but 
respect  Foker's  con- 
noisseurship  as  he  pronounced  the  champagne  to  be  con- 
demned gooseberry,  and  winked  at  the  port  with  one  eye. 
The  latter  he  declared  to  be  of  the  right  sort ;  and  told  the 
waiters,  there  was  no  way  of  humbugging  him.  All 
these  attendants  he  knew  by  their  Christian  names,  and 
showed  a  great  interest  in  their  families;  and  as  the 
London  coaches  drove  up,  which  in  those  early  days 
used  to  set  off  from  the  George,  Mr.  Foker  flung  the 
coffee-room  window  open,  and  called  the  guards  and 
coachmen  by  their  Christian  names,  too,  asking  about 
their  respective  families,  and  imitating  with  great  live- 
liness and  accuracy  the  tooting  of  the  horns  as  Jem  the 

53 


54  PENDENNIS 

ostler  whipped  the  horses'  cloths  off,  and  the  carriages 
drove  gaily  away. 

"  A  bottle  of  sherry,  a  bottle  of  sham,  a  bottle  of  port 
and  a  shass  caffy,  it  ain't  so  bad,  hay,  Pen?  "  Foker  said, 
and  pronounced,  after  all  these  delicacies  and  a  quantity 
of  nuts  and  fruit  had  been  dispatched,  that  it  was  time 
to  "  toddle."  Pen  sprang  up  with  very  bright  eyes,  and 
a  flushed  face ;  and  they  moved  off  towards  the  theatre, 
where  they  paid  their  money  to  the  wheezy  old  lady  slum- 
bering in  the  money-taker's  box.  "  Mrs.  Dropsicum, 
Bingley's  mother-in-law,  great  in  Lady  Macbeth,"  Fo- 
ker said  to  his  companion.  Foker  knew  her,  too. 

They  had  almost  their  choice  of  places  in  the  boxes 
of  the  theatre,  which  was  no  better  filled  than  country 
theatres  usually  are  in  spite  of  the  "  universal  burst  of 
attraction  and  galvanic  thrills  of  delight "  advertised 
by  Bingley  in  the  play-bills.  A  score  or  so  of  people 
dotted  the  pit-benches,  a  few  more  kept  a  kicking  and 
whistling  in  the  galleries,  and  a  dozen  others,  who  came 
in  with  free  admissions,  were  in  the  boxes  where  our 
young  gentlemen  sate.  Lieutenant  Rodgers  and  Pod- 
gers,  and  young  Cornet  Tidmus,  of  the  Dragoons,  oc- 
cupied a  private  box.  The  performers  acted  to  them, 
and  these  gentlemen  seemed  to  hold  conversations  with 
the  players  when  not  engaged  in  the  dialogue,  and  ap- 
plauded them  by  name  loudly. 

Bingley  the  manager,  who  assumed  all  the  chief  tragic 
and  comic  parts  except  when  he  modestly  retreated  to 
make  way  for  the  London  stars,  who  came  down  occa- 
sionally to  Chatteris,  was  great  in  the  character  of  the 
"  Stranger."  He  was  attired  in  the  tight  pantaloons 
and  Hessian  boots  which  the  stage  legend  has  given  to 
that  injured  man,  with  a  large  cloak  and  beaver  and  a 


PENDENNIS  55 

hearse-feather  in  it  drooping  over  his  raddled  old  face, 
and  only  partially  concealing  his  great  buckled  brown 
wig.  He  had  the  stage- jewellery  on  too,  of  which  he 
selected  the  largest  and  most  shiny  rings  for  himself, 
and  allowed  his  little  finger  to  quiver  out  of  his  cloak 
with  a  sham  diamond  ring  covering  the  first  joint  of  the 
finger  and  twiddling  in  the  faces  of  the  pit.  Bingley 
made  it  a  favour  to  the  young  men  of  his  company  to 
go  on  in  light  comedy  parts  with  that  ring.  They  flat- 
tered him  by  asking  its  history.  The  stage  has  its  tra- 
ditional jewels,  as  the  Crown  and  all  great  families  have. 
This  had  belonged  to  George  Frederick  Cooke,  who  had 
had  it  from  Mr.  Quin,  who  may  have  bought  it  for  a 
shilling.  Bingley  fancied  the  world  was  fascinated  with 
its  glitter. 

He  was  reading  out  of  the  stage-book— that  wonder- 
ful stage-book — which  is  not  bound  like  any  other  book 
in  the  world,  but  is  rouged  and  tawdry  like  the  hero  or 
heroine  who  holds  it;  and  who  holds  it  as  people  never 
do  hold  books :  and  points  with  his  finger  to  a  passage, 
and  wags  his  head  ominously  at  the  audience,  and  then 
lifts  up  eyes  and  finger  to  the  ceiling,  professing  to 
derive  some  intense  consolation  from  the  work  between 
which  and  heaven  there  is  a  strong  affinity. 

As  soon  as  the  Stranger  saw  the  young  men,  he  acted 
at  them ;  eyeing  them  solemnly  over  his  gilt  volume  as 
he  lay  on  the  stage-bank  showing  his  hand,  his  ring,  and 
his  Hessians.  He  calculated  the  effect  that  every  one 
of  these  ornaments  would  produce  upon  his  victims: 
he  was  determined  to  fascinate  them,  for  he  knew  they 
had  paid  their  money;  and  he  saw  their  families  com- 
ing in  from  the  country  and  filling  the  cane  chairs  in  his 
boxes. 


56  PENDENNIS 

As  he  lay  on  the  bank  reading,  his  servant,  Francis, 
made  remarks  upon  his  master. 

"  Again  reading,"  said  Francis,  "  thus  it  is,  from 
morn  to  night.  To  him  nature  has  no  beauty— life  no 
charm.  For  three  years  I  have  never  seen  him  smile  " 
(the  gloom  of  Bingley's  face  was  fearful  to  witness 
during  these  comments  of  the  faithful  domestic). 
"  Nothing  diverts  him.  O,  if  he  would  but  attach  him- 
self to  any  living  thing,  were  it  an  animal— for  some- 
thing man  must  love." 

[Enter  Tobias  (Goll)  from  the  hut]  He  cries,  "  O, 
how  refreshing,  after  seven  long  weeks,  to  feel  these 
warm  sunbeams  once  again.  Thanks,  bounteous  heaven, 
for  the  joy  I  taste!"  He  presses  his  cap  between  his 
hands,  looks  up  and  prays.  The  Stranger  eyes  him 
attentively. 

Francis  to  the  Stranger.  '  This  old  man's  share  of 
earthly  happiness  can  be  but  little.  Yet  mark  how 
grateful  he  is  for  his  portion  of  it." 

Bingley.  "  Because,  though  old,  he  is  but  a  child  in 
the  leading-string  of  hope."  (He  looks  steadily  at 
Foker,  who,  however,  continues  to  suck  the  top  of  his 
stick  in  an  unconcerned  manner.) 

Francis.    "  Hope  is  the  nurse  of  life." 

Bingley.     "  And  her  cradle — is  the  grave." 

The  Stranger  uttered  this  with  the  moan  of  a  bassoon 
in  agony,  and  fixed  his  glance  on  Pendennis  so  steadily, 
that  the  poor  lad  was  quite  put  out  of  countenance.  He 
thought  the  whole  house  must  be  looking  at  him;  and 
cast  his  eyes  down.  As  soon  as  ever  he  raised  them 
Bingley's  were  at  him  again.  All  through  the  scene  the 
manager  played  at  him.  How  relieved  the  lad  was  when 
the  scene  ended,  and  Foker,  tapping  with  his  cane,  cried 
out  "Bravo,  Bingley!" 


PENDENNIS  57 

"  Give  him  a  hand,  Pendennis;  you  know  every  chap 
likes  a  hand,"  Mr.  Foker  said;  and  the  good-natured 
young  gentleman,  and  Pendennis  laughing,  and  the 
dragoons  in  the  opposite  box,  began  clapping  hands  to 
the  best  of  their  power. 

A  chamber  in  Wintersen  Castle  closed  over  Tobias's 
hut  and  the  Stranger  and  his  boots;  and  servants  ap- 
peared bustling  about  with  chairs  and  tables—"  That's 
Hicks  and  Miss  Thackthwaite,"  whispered  Foker. 
"  Pretty  girl,  ain't  she,  Pendennis?  But  stop— hurray 
— bravo!  here's  the  Fotheringay." 

The  pit  thrilled  and  thumped  its  umbrellas;  a  volley 
of  applause  was  fired  from  the  gallery:  the  Dragoon 
officers  and  Foker  clapped  their  hands  furiously:  you 
would  have  thought  the  house  was  full,  so  loud  were  their 
plaudits.  The  red  face  and  ragged  whiskers  of  Mr. 
Costigan  were  seen  peering  from  the  side-scene.  Pen's 
eyes  opened  wide  and  bright,  as  Mrs.  Haller  entered 
with  a  downcast  look,  then  rallying  at  the  sound  of  the 
applause,  swept  the  house  with  a  grateful  glance,  and, 
folding  her  hands  across  her  breast,  sank  down  in  a 
magnificent  curtsey.  More  applause,  more  umbrellas; 
Pen  this  time,  flaming  with  wine  and  enthusiasm, 
clapped  hands  and  sang  "  Bravo  "  louder  than  all.  Mrs. 
Haller  saw  him,  and  everybody  else,  and  old  Mr.  Bows, 
the  little  first  fiddler  of  the  orchestra  (which  was  this 
night  increased  by  a  detachment  of  the  band  of  the 
Dragoons,  by  the  kind  permission  of  Colonel  Swallow- 
tail), looked  up  from  the  desk  where  he  was  perched, 
with  his  crutch  beside  him,  and  smiled  at  the  enthusiasm 
of  the  lad. 

Those  who  have  only  seen  Miss  Fotheringay  in  later 
days,  since  her  marriage  and  introduction  into  London 
life,  have  little  idea  how  beautiful  a  creature  she  was  at 


58  PENDENNIS 

the  time  when  our  friend  Pen  first  set  eyes  on  her.  She 
was  of  the  tallest  of  women,  and  at  her  then  age  of  six- 
and-twenty — for  six-and-twenty  she  was,  though  she 
vows  she  was  only  nineteen — in  the  prime  and  fulness 
of  her  beauty.  Her  forehead  was  vast,  and  her  black 
hair  waved  over  it  with  a  natural  ripple,  and  was  con- 
fined in  shining  and  voluminous  braids  at  the  back  of 
a  neck  such  as  you  see  on  the  shoulders  of  the  Louvre 
Venus — that  delight  of  gods  and  men.  Her  eyes,  when 
she  lifted  them  up  to  gaze  on  you,  and  ere  she  dropped 
their  purple  deep-fringed  lids,  shone  with  tenderness 
and  mystery  unfathomable.  Love  and  Genius  seemed 
to  look  out  from  them  and  then  retire  coyly,  as  if 
ashamed  to  have  been  seen  at  the  lattice.  Who  could 
have  had  such  a  commanding  brow  but  a  woman  of  high 
intellect?  She  never  laughed  ( indeed  her  teeth  were  not 
good ) ,  but  a  smile  of  endless  tenderness  and  sweetness 
played  round  her  beautiful  lips,  and  in  the  dimples  of 
her  cheeks  and  her  lovely  chin.  Her  nose  defied  de- 
scription in  those  days.  Her  ears  were  like  two  little 
pearl  shells,  which  the  earrings  she  wore  (though  the 
handsomest  properties  in  the  theatre)  only  insulted. 
She  was  dressed  in  long  flowing  robes  of  black,  which 
she  managed  and  swept  to  and  fro  with  wonderful  grace, 
and  out  of  the  folds  of  which  you  only  saw  her  sandals 
occasionally ;  they  were  of  rather  a  large  size ;  but  Pen 
thought  them  as  ravishing  as  the  slippers  of  Cinderella. 
But  it  was  her  hand  and  arm  that  this  magnificent  crea- 
ture most  excelled  in,  and  somehow  you  could  never  see 
her  but  through  them.  They  surrounded  her.  When 
she  folded  them  over  her  bosom  in  resignation;  when 
she  dropped  them  in  mute  agony,  or  raised  them  in  su- 
perb command ;  when  in  sportive  gaiety  her  hands  flut- 


PENDENNIS  59 

tered  and  waved  before  her,  like — what  shall  we  say? — 
like  the  snowy  doves  before  the  chariot  of  Venus — it 
was  with  these  arms  and  hands  that  she  beckoned,  re- 
pelled, entreated,  embraced  her  admirers — no  single  one, 
for  she  was  armed  with  her  own  virtue,  and  with  her 
father's  valour,  whose  sword  would  have  leapt  from  its 
scabbard  at  any  insult  offered  to  his  child — but  the  whole 
house ;  which  rose  to  her,  as  the  phrase  was,  as  she  curt- 
seyed and  bowed,  and  charmed  it. 

Thus  she  stood  for  a  minute — complete  and  beautiful 
—as  Pen  stared  at  her.  "  I  say,  Pen,  isn't  she  a  stun- 
ner? "  asked  Mr.  Foker. 

"  Hush!  "  Pen  said.    "  She's  speaking." 

She  began  her  business  in  a  deep  sweet  voice.  Those 
who  know  the  play  of  the  "  Stranger,"  are  aware  that 
the  remarks  made  by  the  various  characters  are  not  val- 
uable in  themselves,  either  for  their  sound  sense,  their 
novelty  of  observation,  or  their  poetic  fancy. 

Nobody  ever  talked  so.  If  we  meet  idiots  in  life,  as 
will  happen,  it  is  a  great  mercy  that  they  do  not  use  such 
absurdly  fine  words.  The  Stranger's  talk  is  sham,  like 
the  book  he  reads,  and  the  hair  he  wears,  and  the  bank 
he  sits  on,  and  the  diamond  ring  he  makes  play  with — 
but,  in  the  midst  of  the  balderdash,  there  runs  that  real- 
ity of  love,  children,  and  forgiveness  of  wrong,  which 
will  be  listened  to  wherever  it  is  preached,  and  sets  all 
the  world  sympathising. 

With  what  smothered  sorrow,  with  what  gushing 
pathos,  Mrs.  Haller  delivered  her  part!  At  first,  when 
as  Count  Wintersen's  housekeeper,  and  preparing  for 
his  Excellency's  arrival,  she  has  to  give  orders  about  the 
beds  and  furniture,  and  the  dinner,  &c.,  to  be  got  ready, 
she  did  so  with  the  calm  agony  of  despair.  But  when 


60  PENDENNIS 

she  could  get  rid  of  the  stupid  servants,  and  give  vent 
to  her  feelings  to  the  pit  and  the  house,  she  overflowed 
to  each  individual  as  if  he  were  her  particular  confidant, 
and  she  was  crying  out  her  griefs  on  his  shoulder:  the 
little  fiddler  in  the  orchestra  (whom  she  did  not  seem  to 
watch,  though  he  followed  her  ceaselessly)  twitched, 
.  twisted,  nodded,  pointed  about,  and  when  she  came  to 
the  favourite  passage  "  I  have  a  William,  too,  if  he  be 
still  alive — Ah,  yes,  if  he  be  still  alive.  His  little  sisters, 
too!  Why,  Fancy,  dost  thou  rack  me  so?  Why  dost 
thou  image  my  poor  children  fainting  in  sickness,  and 
crying  to — to — their  mum-um-o£for," — when  she  came 
to  this  passage  little  Bows  buried  his  face  in  his  blue 
cotton  handkerchief,  after  crying  out  "  Bravo." 

All  the  house  was  affected.  Foker,  for  his  part,  tak- 
ing out  a  large  yellow  bandanna,  wept  piteously.  As 
for  Pen,  he  was  gone  too  far  for  that.  He  followed 
the  woman  about  and  about — when  she  was  off  the  stage, 
it  and  the  house  were  blank ;  the  lights  and  the  red  offi- 
cers reeled  wildly  before  his  sight.  He  watched  her  at 
the  side-scene—where  she  stood  waiting  to  come  on  the 
stage,  and  where  her  father  took  off  her  shawl:  when 
the  reconciliation  arrived,  and  she  flung  herself  down 
on  Mr.  Bingley's  shoulders,  whilst  the  children  clung  to 
their  knees,  and  the  Countess  (Mrs.  Bingley)  and  Baron 
Steinforth  (performed  with  great  liveliness  and  spirit 
by  Garbetts,) — while  the  rest  of  the  characters  formed 
a  group  round  them,  Pen's  hot  eyes  only  saw  Fother- 
ingay,  Fotheringay.  The  curtain  fell  upon  him  like  a 
pall.  He  did  not  hear  a  word  of  what  Bingley  said, 
who  came  forward  to  announce  the  play  for  the  next 
evening,  and  who  took  the  tumultuous  applause,  as 
usual,  for  himself.  Pen  was  not  even  distinctly  aware 


PENDENNIS  61 

that  the  house  was  calling  for  Miss  Fotheringay,  nor 
did  the  manager  seem  to  comprehend  that  anybody  else 
but  himself  had  caused  the  success  of  the  play.  At  last 
he  understood  it — stepped  back  with  a  grin,  and  pres- 
ently appeared  with  Mrs.  Haller  on  his  arm.  How 
beautiful  she  looked!  Her  hair  had  fallen  down,  the 
officers  threw  her  flowers.  She  clutched  them  to  her 
heart.  She  put  back  her  hair,  and  smiled  all  round. 
Her  eyes  met  Pen's.  Down  went  the  curtain  again: 
and  she  was  gone.  Not  one  note  could  he  hear  of  the 
overture  which  the  brass  band  of  the  dragoons  blew  by 
kind  permission  of  Colonel  Swallowtail. 

"  She  is  a  crusher,  ain't  she  now? "  Mr.  Foker  asked 
of  his  companion. 

Pen  did  not  know  exactly  what  Foker  said,  and 
answered  vaguely.  He  could  not  tell  the  other  what 
he  felt;  he  could  not  have  spoken,  just  then,  to  any 
mortal.  Besides,  Pendennis  did  not  quite  know  what 
he  felt  yet;  it  was  something  overwhelming,  mad- 
dening, delicious;  a  fever  of  wild  joy  and  undefined 
longing. 

And  now  Rowkins  and  Miss  Thackthwaite  came  on 
to  dance  the  favourite  double  hornpipe,  and  Foker  aban- 
doned himself  to  the  delights  of  this  ballet,  just  as  he 
had  to  the  tears  of  the  tragedy,  a  few  minutes  before. 
Pen  did  not  care  for  it,  or  indeed  think  about  the  dance, 
except  to  remember  that  that  woman  was  acting  with 
her  in  the  scene  where  she  first  came  in.  It  was  a  mist 
before  his  eyes.  At  the  end  of  the  dance  he  looked  at  his 
watch  and  said  it  was  time  for  him  to  go. 

"  Hang  it,  stay  to  see  The  Bravo  of  the  Battle- Axe," 
Foker  said,  "  Bingley's  splendid  in  it;  he  wears  red 
tights,  and  has  to  carry  Mrs.  B.  over  the  Pine-bridge  of 


62  PENDENNIS 

the  Cataract,  only  she's  too  heavy.     It's  great  fun,  do 
stop." 

Pen  looked  at  the  bill  with  one  lingering  fond  hope 
that  Miss  Fotheringay's  name  might  be  hidden,  some- 
where, in  the  list  of  the  actors  of  the  after-piece,  but 
there  was  no  such  name.  Go  he  must.  He  had  a  long 
ride  home.  He  squeezed  Foker's  hand.  He  was  chok- 
ing to  speak,  but  he  couldn't.  He  quitted  the  theatre 
and  walked  frantically  about  the  town,  he  knew  not 
how  long;  then  he  mounted  at  the  George  and  rode 
homewards,  and  Clavering  clock  sang  out  one  as  he 
came  into  the  yard  at  Fairoaks.  The  lady  of  the  house 
might  have  been  awake,  but  she  only  heard  him  from 
the  passage  outside  his  room  as  he  dashed  into  bed  and 
pulled  the  clothes  over  his  head. 

Pen  had  not  been  in  the  habit  of  passing  wakeful 
nights,  so  he  at  once  fell  off  into  a  sound  sleep.  Even 
in  later  days,  and  with  a  great  deal  of  care  and  other 
thoughtful  matter  to  keep  him  awake,  a  man  from  long 
practice  or  fatigue  or  resolution  begins  by  going  to  sleep 
as  usual :  and  gets  a  nap  in  advance  of  Anxiety.  But 
she  soon  comes  up  with  him  and  jogs  his  shoulder,  and 
says  "  Come,  my  man,  no  more  of  this  laziness,  you  must 
wake  up  and  have  a  talk  with  me."  Then  they  fall  to 
together  in  the  midnight.  Well,  whatever  might  after- 
wards happen  to  him,  poor  little  Pen  was  not  come  to 
this  state  yet;  he  tumbled  into  a  sound  sleep— did  not 
wake  until  an  early  hour  in  the  morning,  when  the  rooks 
began  to  caw  from  the  little  wood  beyond  his  bed-room 
windows;  and — at  that  very  instant  and  as  his  eyes 
started  open,  the  beloved  image  was  in  his  mind.  "  My 
dear  boy,"  he  heard  her  say,  "  you  were  in  a  sound  sleep, 


PENDENNIS  63 

and  I  would  not  disturb  you:  but  I  have  been  close  by 
your  pillow  all  this  while:  and  I  don't  intend  that  you 
shall  leave  me.  I  am  Love !  I  bring  with  me  fever  and 
passion :  wild  longing,  maddening  desire ;  restless  crav- 
ing and  seeking.  Many  a  long  day  ere  this  I  heard  you 
calling  out  for  me ;  and  behold  now  I  am  come." 

Was  Pen  frightened  at  the  summons?  Not  he.  He 
did  not  know  what  was  coming :  it  was  all  wild  pleasure 
and  delight  as  yet.  And  as,  when  three  years  previously, 
and  on  entering  the  fifth  form  at  the  Cistercians,  his 
father  had  made  him  a  present  of  a  gold  watch  which 
the  boy  took  from  under  his  pillow  and  examined  on  the 
instant  of  waking:  for  ever  rubbing  and  polishing  it 
up  in  private  and  retiring  into  corners  to  listen  to  its 
ticking :  so  the  young  man  exulted  over  his  new  delight ; 
felt  in  his  waistcoat  pocket  to  see  that  it  was  safe ;  wound 
it  up  at  nights,  and  at  the  very  first  moment  of  waking 
hugged  it  and  looked  at  it. — By  the  way,  that  first  watch 
of  Pen's  was  a  showy  ill-manufactured  piece:  it  never 
went  well  from  the  beginning,  and  was  always  getting 
out  of  order.  And  after  putting  it  aside  into  a  drawer 
and  forgetting  it  for  some  time,  he  swopped  it  finally 
away  for  a  more  useful  time-keeper. 

Pen  felt  himself  to  be  ever  so  many  years  older  since 
yesterday.  There  was  no  mistake  about  it  now.  He  was 
as  much  in  love  as  the  best  hero  in  the  best  romance  he 
ever  read.  He  told  John  to  bring  his  shaving  water  with 
the  utmost  confidence.  He  dressed  himself  in  some  of 
his  finest  clothes  that  morning:  and  came  splendidly 
down  to  breakfast,  patronising  his  mother  and  little 
Laura,  who  had  been  strumming  her  music  lesson  for 
hours  before;  and  who  after  he  had  read  the  prayers  (of 
which  he  did  not  heed  one  single  syllable),  wondered  at 


64  PENDENNIS 

his  grand  appearance,  and  asked  him  to  tell  her  what 
the  play  was  about? 

Pen  laughed  and  declined  to  tell  Laura  what  the  play 
was  about.  In  fact  it  was  quite  as  well  that  she  should 
not  know.  Then  she  asked  him  why  he  had  got  on  his 
fine  pin  and  beautiful  new  waistcoat? 

Pen  blushed,  and  told  his  mother  that  the  old  school- 
fellow with  whom  he  had  dined  at  Chatteris  was  reading 
with  a  tutor  at  Baymouth,  a  very  learned  man;  and  as 
he  was  himself  to  go  to  College,  and  as  there  were  several 
young  men  pursuing  their  studies  at  Baymouth — he  was 
anxious  to  ride  over— and— and  just  see  what  the  course 
of  their  reading  was. 

Laura  made  a  long  face.  Helen  Pendennis  looked 
hard  at  her  son,  troubled  more  than  ever  with  the  vague 
doubt  and  terror  which  had  been  haunting  her  ever  since 
the  last  night,  when  Farmer  Gurnett  brought  back  the 
news  that  Pen  would  not  return  home  to  dinner.  Ar- 
thur's eyes  defied  her.  She  tried  to  console  herself,  and 
drive  off  her  fears.  The  boy  had  never  told  her  an  un- 
truth. Pen  conducted  himself  during  breakfast  in  a 
very  haughty  and  supercilious  manner;  and,  taking 
leave  of  the  elder  and  younger  lady,  was  presently  heard 
riding  out  of  the  stable-court.  He  went  gently  at  first, 
but  galloped  like  a  madman  as  soon  as  he  thought  that 
he  was  out  of  hearing. 

Smirke,  thinking  of  his  own  affairs,  and  softly  riding 
with  his  toes  out,  to  give  Pen  his  three  hours'  reading  at 
Fairoaks,  met  his  pupil,  who  shot  by  him  like  the  wind. 
Smirke's  pony  shied,  as  the  other  thundered  past  him; 
the  gentle  curate  went  over  his  head  among  the  stinging- 
nettles  in  the  hedge.  Pen  laughed  as  they  met,  pointed 
towards  the  Baymouth  road,  and  was  gone  half-a-mile 


The  Curate  come  to  Grief 


PENDENNIS  65 

in  that  direction  before  poor  Smirke  had  picked  him- 
self up. 

Pen  had  resolved  in  his  mind  that  he  must  see  Foker 
that  morning;  he  must  hear  about  her;  know  about 
her;  be  with  somebody  who  knew  her;  and  honest 
Smirke,  for  his  part,  sitting  up  among  the  stinging- 
nettles,  as  his  pony  cropped  quietly  in  the  hedge,  thought 
dismally  to  himself,  ought  he  go  to  Fairoaks  now  that 
his  pupil  was  evidently  gone  away  for  the  day.  Yes,  he 
thought  he  might  go,  too.  He  might  go  and  ask  Mrs. 
Pendennis  when  Arthur  would  be  back ;  and  hear  Miss 
Laura  her  Watts's  Catechism.  He  got  up  on  the  little 
pony— both  were  used  to  his  slipping  off— and  advanced 
upon  the  house  from  which  his  scholar  had  just  rushed 
away  in  a  whirlwind. 

Thus  love  makes  fools  of  all  of  us,  big  and  little ;  and 
the  curate  had  tumbled  over  head  and  heels  in  pursuit 
of  it,  and  Pen  had  started  in  the  first  heat  of  the  mad 
race. 


CHAPTER  V 


MRS.  HALLER  AT  HOME 

ITHOUT  slackening 
his  pace  Pen  gal- 
loped on  to  Bay- 
mouth,  put  the  mare 
up  at  the  inn  stables, 
and  ran  straightway 
to  Mr.  Foker's  lodg- 
^  ings,  of  whom  he 
had  taken  the  direc- 
tion on  the  previous 
day.  On  reaching 
these  apartments, 
which  were  over  a 
chemist's  shop  whose 
stock  of  cigars  and 
soda-water  went  off 
rapidly  by  the  kind 
patronage  of  his 
young  inmates,  Pen 
only  found  Mr.  Spavin,  Foker's  friend,  and  part  owner 
of  the  tandem  which  the  latter  had  driven  into  Chatteris, 
who  was  smoking,  and  teaching  a  little  dog,  a  friend  of 
his,  tricks  with  a  bit  of  biscuit. 

Pen's  healthy  red  face  fresh  from  the  gallop,  com- 
pared oddly  with  the  waxy  debauched  little  features  of 
Foker's  chum;  Mr.  Spavin  remarked  the  circumstance. 

66 


PENDENNIS  67 

'  Who's  that  man? "  he  thought,  "  he  looks  as  fresh  as 
a  bean.  His  hand  don't  shake  of  a  morning,  I'd  bet  five 
to  one." 

Foker  had  not  come  home  at  all.  Here  was  a  dis- 
appointment!—Mr.  Spavin  could  not  say  when  his 
friend  would  return.  Sometimes  he  stopped  a  day, 
sometimes  a  week.  Of  what  college  was  Pen?  Would 
he  have  anything?  There  was  a  very  fair  tap  of  ale. 
Mr.  Spavin  was  enabled  to  know  Pendennis's  name,  on 
the  card  which  the  latter  took  out  and  laid  down  (per- 
haps Pen  in  these  days  was  rather  proud  of  having  a 
card) — and  so  the  young  men  took  leave. 

Then  Pen  went  down  the  rock,  and  walked  about  on 
the  sand,  biting  his  nails  by  the  shore  of  the  much-sound- 
ing sea.  It  stretched  before  him  bright  and  immeasur- 
able. The  blue  waters  came  rolling  into  the  bay, 
foaming  and  roaring  hoarsely:  Pen  looked  them  in  the 
face  with  blank  eyes,  hardly  regarding  them.  What  a 
tide  there  was  pouring  into  the  lad's  own  mind  at  the 
time,  and  what  a  little  power  had  he  to  check  it!  Pen 
flung  stones  into  the  sea,  but  it  still  kept  coming  on. 
He  was  in  a  rage  at  not  seeing  Foker.  He  wanted  to 
see  Foker.  He  must  see  Foker.  "  Suppose  I  go  on— 
on  the  Chatteris  road,  just  to  see  if  I  can  meet  him," 
Pen  thought.  Rebecca  was  saddled  in  another  half- 
hour,  and  galloping  on  the  grass  by  the  Chatteris  road. 
About  four  miles  from  Baymouth,  the  Clavering  road 
branches  off,  as  everybody  knows,  and  the  mare  natur- 
ally was  for  taking  that  turn,  but,  cutting  her  over  the 
shoulder,  Penn  passed  the  turning,  and  rode  on  to  the 
turnpike  without  seeing  any  sign  of  the  black  tandem 
and  red  wheels. 

As  he  was  at  the  turnpike  he* might  as  well  go  on: 


68  PENDENNIS 

that  was  quite  clear.  So  Pen  rode  to  the  George,  and 
the  ostler  told  him  that  Mr.  Foker  was  there  sure 
enough,  and  that  "  he'd  been  a  makin'  a  tremendous  row 
the  night  afore,  a  drinkin'  and  a  singin',  and  wanting 
to  fight  Tom  the  post-boy:  which  I'm  thinking  he'd 
have  had  the  worst  of  it,"  the  man  added,  with  a  grin. 
"  Have  you  carried  up  your  master's  'ot  water  to  shave 
with?  "  he  added,  in  a  very  satirical  manner,  to  Mr. 
Foker's  domestic,  who  here  came  down  the  yard  bearing 
his  master's  clothes,  most  beautifully  brushed  and  ar- 
ranged. "  Show  Mr.  Pendennis  up  to  'un."  And  Pen 
followed  the  man  at  last  to  the  apartment,  where,  in  the 
midst  of  an  immense  bed,  Mr.  Harry  Foker  lay  re- 
posing. 

The  feather  bed  and  bolsters  swelled  up  all  round  Mr. 
Foker,  so  that  you  could  hardly  see  his  little  sallow  face 
and  red  silk  nightcap. 

"Hullo!  "said  Pen. 

"Who  goes  there?  brother,  quickly  tell!"  sang  out 
the  voice  from  the  bed.  'What!  Pendennis  again? 
Is  your  Mamma  acquainted  with  your  absence?  Did 
you  sup  with  us  last  night?  No — stop — who  supped 
with  us  last  night,  Stoopid?  " 

"  There  was  the  three  officers,  sir,  and  Mr.  Bingley, 
sir,  and  Mr.  Costigan,  sir,"  the  man  answered,  who  re- 
ceived all  Mr.  Foker's  remarks  with  perfect  gravity. 

"  Ah  yes:  the  cup  and  merry  jest  went  round.  We 
chanted:  and  I  remember  I  wanted  to  fight  a  post-boy. 
Did  I  thrash  him,  Stoopid?  " 

"  No,  sir.  Fight  didn't  come  off,  sir,"  said  Stoopid, 
still  with  perfect  gravity.  He  was  arranging  Mr. 
Foker's  dressing-case— a  trunk,  the  gift  of  a  fond 
mother,  without  which  the  young  fellow  never  travelled. 


PENDENNIS  69 

It  contained  a  prodigious  apparatus  in  plate;  a  silver 
dish,  a  silver  mug,  silver  boxes  and  bottles  for  all  sorts 
of  essences,  and  a  choice  of  razors  ready  against  the 
time  when  Mr.  Foker's  beard  should  come. 

"  Do  it  some  other  day,"  said  the  young  fellow,  yawn- 
ing and  throwing  up  his  little  lean  arms  over  his  head. 
' '  No,  there  was  no  fight;  but  there  was  chanting.  Bing- 
ley  chanted,  I  chanted,  the  General  chanted — Costigan 
I  mean.— Did  you  ever  hear  him  sing  '  The  Little  Pig 
under  the  Bed,'  Pen?  " 

"  The  man  we  met  yesterday,"  said  Pen,  all  in  a 
tremor,  "  the  father  of — " 

"  Of  the  Fotheringay, — the  very  man.  Ain't  she  a 
Venus,  Pen?" 

"  Please,  sir,  Mr.  Costigan's  in  the  sittin'-room,  sir, 
and  says,  sir,  you  asked  him  to  breakfast,  sir.  Called 
five  times,  sir;  but  wouldn't  wake  you  on  no  account; 
and  has  been  year  since  eleven  o'clock,  sir — " 

"  How  much  is  it  now? " 

"  One,  sir." 

"  What  would  the  best  of  mothers  say,"  cried  the  little 
sluggard,  "  if  she  saw  me  in  bed  at  this  hour?  She  sent 
me  down  here  with  a  grinder.  She  wants  me  to  cultivate 
my  neglected  genius— He,  he!  I  say,  Pen,  this  isn't 
quite  like  seven  o'clock  school, — is  it,  old  boy?  "  —and  the 
young  fellow  burst  out  into  a  boyish  laugh  of  enjoy- 
ment. Then  he  added — "  Go  in  and  talk  to  the  General 
whilst  I  dress.  And  I  say,  Pendennis,  ask  him  to  sing 
you  '  The  Little  Pig  under  the  Bed;'  it's  capital."  Pen 
went  off  in  great  perturbation,  to  meet  Mr.  Costigan, 
and  Mr.  Foker  commenced  his  toilet. 

Of  Mr.  Foker's  two  grandfathers,  the  one  from  whom 
he  inherited  a  fortune,  was  a  brewer;  the  other  was  an 


70  PENDENNIS 

earl,  who  endowed  him  with  the  most  doting  mother  in  the 
world.  The  Fokers  had  been  at  the  Cistercian  school 
from  father  to  son;  at  which  place,  our  friend,  whose 
name  could  be  seen  over  the  playground  wall,  on  a  pub- 
lic-house sign,  under  which  "  Foker's  Entire "  was 
painted,  had  been  dreadfully  bullied  on  account  of  his 
trade,  his  uncomely  countenance,  his  inaptitude  for 
learning  and  cleanliness,  his  gluttony  and  other  weak 
points.  But  those  who  know  how  a  susceptible  youth, 
under  the  tyranny  of  his  schoolfellows,  becomes  silent  and 
a  sneak,  may  understand  how  in  a  very  few  months  after 
his  liberation  from  bondage,  he  developed  himself  as  he 
had  done;  and  became  the  humorous,  the  sarcastic,  the 
brilliant  Foker,  with  whom  we  have  made  acquaintance. 
A  dunce  he  always  was,  it  is  true ;  for  learning  cannot 
be  acquired  by  leaving  school  and  entering  at  college 
as  a  fellow-commoner ;  but  he  was  now  ( in  his  own  pecu- 
liar manner)  as  great  a  dandy  as  he  before  had  been  a 
slattern,  and  when  he  entered  his  sitting-room  to  join 
his  two  guests,  arrived  scented  and  arrayed  in  fine  linen, 
and  perfectly  splendid  in  appearance. 

General  or  Captain  Costigan— for  the  latter  was  the 
rank  which  he  preferred  to  assume — was  seated  in  the 
window  with  the  newspaper  held  before  him  at  arm's 
length.  The  Captain's  eyes  were  somewhat  dim;  and 
he  was  spelling  the  paper,  with  the  help  of  his  lips,  as 
well  as  of  those  bloodshot  eyes  of  his,  as  you  see  gentle- 
men do  to  whom  reading  is  a  rare  and  difficult  occupa- 
tion. His  hat  was  cocked  very  much  on  one  ear;  and 
as  one  of  his  feet  lay  up  in  the  window-seat,  the  observer 
of  such  matters  might  remark,  by  the  size  and  shabbi- 
ness  of  the  boots  which  the  Captain  wore,  that  times  did 
not  go  very  well  with  him.  Poverty  seems  as  if  it  were 


PENDENNIS  71 

disposed,  before  it  takes  possession  of  a  man  entirely,  to 
attack  his  extremities  first:  the  coverings  of  his  head, 
feet,  and  hands,  are  its  first  prey.  All  these  parts  of  the 
Captain's  person  were  particularly  rakish  and  shabby. 
As  soon  as  he  saw  Pen  he  descended  from  the  window- 
seat  and  saluted  the  new  comer,  first  in  a  military  man- 
ner, by  conveying  a  couple  of  his  fingers  (covered  with 
a  broken  black  glove )  to  his  hat,  and  then  removing  that 
ornament  altogether.  The  Captain  was  inclined  to  be 
bald,  but  he  brought  a  quantity  of  lank  iron-grey  hair 
over  his  pate,  and  had  a  couple  of  wisps  of  the  same 
falling  down  on  each  side  of  his  face.  Much  whisky 
had  spoiled  what  complexion  Mr.  Costigan  may  have 
possessed  in  his  youth.  His  once  handsome  face  had 
now  a  copper  tinge.  He  wore  a  very  high  stock,  scarred 
and  stained  in  many  places;  and  a  dress-coat  tightly 
buttoned  up  in  those  parts  where  the  buttons  had  not 
parted  company  from  the  garment. 

'  The  young  gentleman  to  whom  I  had  the  honour  to 
be  intro juiced  yesterday  in  the  Cathedral  Yard,"  said 
the  Captain,  with  a  splendid  bow  and  wave  of  his  hat. 
"  I  hope  I  see  you  well,  sir.  I  marked  ye  in  the  thayater 
last  night  during  me  daughter's  perf awrumance ;  and 
missed  ye  on  my  return.  I  did  but  conduct  her  home, 
sir,  for  Jack  Costigan,  though  poor,  is  a  gentleman ;  and 
when  I  reintered  the  house  to  pay  me  respects  to  me  joy- 
ous young  friend,  Mr.  Foker — ye  "were  gone.  We  had 
a  jolly  night  of  ut,  sir— Mr.  Foker,  the  three  gallant 
young  dragoons,  and  your  'umble  servant.  Gad,  sir, 
it  put  me  in  mind  of  one  of  our  old  nights  when  I  bore 
her  Majesty's  commission  in  the  Foighting  Hundtherd 
and  Third."  And  he  pulled  out  an  old  snuff-box,  which 
he  presented  with  a  stately  air  to  his  new  acquaintance. 


72  PENDENNIS 

Arthur  was  a  great  deal  too  much  flurried  to  speak. 
This  shabby-looking  buck  was— was  her  father.  "  I 

hope,  Miss  F ,  Miss  Costigan  is  well,  sir,"  Pen  said, 

flushing  up.    "  She — she  gave  me  greater  pleasure,  than 
—than  I — I — I  ever  enjoyed  at  a  play.    I  think,  sir — 
I  think  she's  the  finest  actress  in  the  world,"  he  gasped 
out. 

'  Your  hand,  young  man !  for  ye  speak  from  your 
heart,"  cried  the  Captain.  '  Thank  ye,  sir,  an  old  soldier 
and  a  fond  father  thanks  ye.  She  is  the  finest  actress  in 
the  world.  I've  seen  the  Siddons,  sir,  and  the  O'Nale— 
They  were  great,  but  what  were  they  compared  to  Miss 
Fotheringay  ?  I  do  not  wish  she  should  ashume  her  own 
name  while  on  the  stage.  Me  family,  sir,  are  proud  peo- 
ple; and  the  Costigans  of  Costiganstown  think  that  an 
honest  man,  who  has  borne  her  Majesty's  colours  in  the 
Hundtherd  and  Third,  would  demean  himself,  by  per- 
mitting his  daughter  to  earn  her  old  father's  bread." 

1  There  cannot  be  a  more  honourable  duty,  surely," 
Pen  said. 

"Honourable!  Bedad,  sir,  I'd  like  to  see  the  man 
who  said  Jack  Costigan  would  consent  to  anything  dis- 
honourable. I  have  a  heart,  sir,  though  I  am  poor;  I 
like  a  man  who  has  a  heart.  You  have:  I  read  it  in 
your  honest  face  and  steady  eye.  And  would  you  be- 
lieve it?"  he  added,  after  a  pause,  and  with  a  pathetic 
whisper,  "  that  that  Bingley,  who  has  made  his  fortune 
by  me  child,  gives  her  but  two  guineas  a  week:  out  of 
which  she  finds  herself  in  dresses,  and  which,  added  to 
me  own  small  means,  makes  our  all? " 

Now  the  Captain's  means  were  so  small  as  to  be,  it 
may  be  said,  quite  invisible.  But  nobody  knows  how 
the  wind  is  tempered  to  shorn  Irish  lambs,  and  in  what 


PENDEXNIS  73 

marvellous  places  they  find  pasture.  If  Captain  Costi- 
gan,  whom  I  had  the  honour  to  know,  would  but  have 
told  his  history,  it  would  have  been  a  great  moral  story. 
But  he  neither  would  have  told  it  if  he  could,  nor  could 
if  he  would ;  for  the  Captain  was  not  only  unaccustomed 
to  tell  the  truth, — he  was  unable  even  to  think  it — and 
fact  and  fiction  reeled  together  in  his  muzzy,  whiskified 
brain. 

He  began  life  rather  brilliantly  with  a  pair  of  colours, 
a  fine  person  and  legs,  and  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
voices  in  the  world.  To  his  latest  day  he  sang  with  ad- 
mirable pathos  and  humour,  those  wonderful  Irish  bal- 
lads which  are  so  mirthful  and  so  melancholy:  and  was 
always  the  first  himself  to  cry  at  their  pathos.  Poor 
Cos!  he  was  at  once  brave  and  maudlin,  humorous  and 
an  idiot;  always  good-natured,  and  sometimes  almost 
trustworthy.  Up  to  the  last  day  of  his  life  he  would 
drink  with  any  man,  and  back  any  man's  bill:  and  his 
end  was  in  a  spunging-house,  where  the  sheriff's  officer, 
who  took  him,  was  fond  of  him. 

In  his  brief  morning  of  life,  Cos  formed  the  delight 
of  regimental  messes,  and  had  the  honour  of  singing 
his  songs,  bacchanalian  and  sentimental,  at  the  tables  of 
the  most  illustrious  generals  and  commanders-in-chief, 
in  the  course  of  which  period  he  drank  three  times  as 
much  claret  as  was  good  for  him,  and  spent  his  doubtful 
patrimony.  What  became  of  him  subsequently  to  his 
retirement  from  the  army,  is  no  affair  of  ours.  I  take 
it,  no  foreigner  understands  the  life  of  an  Irish  gentle- 
man without  money,  the  way  in  which  he  manages  to 
keep  afloat — the  wind-raising  conspiracies  in  which  he 
engages  with  heroes  as  unfortunate  as  himself — the 
means  by  which  he. contrives,  during  most  days  of  the 


74  PENDENNIS 

week,  to  get  his  portion  of  whisky-and-water :  all  these 
are  mysteries  to  us  inconceivable:  but  suffice  it  to  say, 
that  through  all  the  storms  of  life  Jack  had  floated 
somehow,  and  the  lamp  of  his  nose  had  never  gone  out. 

Before  he  and  Pen  had  had  a  half  hour's  conversation, 
the  Captain  managed  to  extract  a  couple  of  sovereigns 
from  the  young  gentleman  for  tickets  for  his  daughter's 
benefit,  which  was  to  take  place  speedily;  and  was  not 
a  bond  fide  transaction  such  as  that  of  the  last  year,  when 
poor  Miss  Fotheringay  had  lost  fifteen  shillings  by  her 
venture,  but  was  an  arrangement  with  the  manager,  by 
which  the  lady  was  to  have  the  sale  of  a  certain  number 
of  tickets,  keeping  for  herself  a  large  portion  of  the  sum 
for  which  they  were  sold. 

Pen  had  but  two  pounds  in  his  purse,  and  he  handed 
them  over  to  the  Captain  for  the  tickets ;  he  would  have 
been  afraid  to  offer  more  lest  he  should  offend  the  lat- 
ter's  delicacy.  Costigan  scrawled  him  an  order  for  a 
box,  lightly  slipped  the  sovereigns  into  his  waistcoat, 
and  slapped  his  hand  over  the  place  where  they  lay. 
They  seemed  to  warm  his  old  sides. 

"  Faith,  sir,"  said  he,  "  the  bullion's  scarcer  with  me 
than  it  used  to  be,  as  is  the  case  with  many  a  good  fellow. 
I  won  six  hundtherd  of  'em  in  a  single  night,  sir,  when 
me  kind  friend,  His  Royal  Highness  the  Duke  of  Kent, 
was  in  Gibralther." 

Then  it  was  good  to  see  the  Captain's  behaviour  at 
breakfast,  before  the  devilled  turkey  and  the  mutton 
chops!  His  stories  poured  forth  unceasingly,  and  his 
spirits  rose  as  he  chatted  to  the  young  men.  When  he 
got  a  bit  of  sunshine,  the  old  lazzarone  basked  in  it;  he 
prated  about  his  own  affairs  and  past  splendour,  and 
all  the  lords,  generals,  and  Lord^Lieutenants  he  had 


PENDENNIS  75 

ever  known.  He  described  the  death  of  his  darling  Bes- 
sie, the  late  Mrs.  Costigan,  and  the  challenge  he  had  sent 
to  Captain  Shanty  Clancy,  of  the  Slashers,  for  looking 
rude  at  Miss  Fotheringay  as  she  was  on  her  kyar  in  the 
Phaynix;  and  then  he  described  how  the  Captain  apol- 
ogised, gave  a  dinner  at  the  Kildare  Street,  where  six 
of  them  drank  twinty-one  bottles  of  claret,  &c.  He  an- 
nounced that  to  sit  with  two  such  noble  and  generous 
young  fellows  was  the  happiness  and  pride  of  an  old 
soldier's  existence;  and  having  had  a  second  glass  of 
Cura^oa,  was  so  happy  that  he  began  to  cry.  Alto- 
gether we  should  say  that  the  Captain  was  not  a  man  of 
much  strength  of  mind,  or  a  very  eligible  companion  for 
youth;  but  there  are  worse  men,  holding  much  better 
places  in  life,  and  more  dishonest,  who  have  never  com- 
mitted half  so  many  rogueries  as  he.  They  walked  out, 
the  Captain  holding  an  arm  of  each  of  his  dear  young 
friends,  and  in  a  maudlin  state  of  contentment.  He 
winked  at  one  or  two  tradesmen's  shops  where,  possibly, 
he  owed  a  bill,  as  much  as  to  say  "See  the  company  I'm 
in— sure  I'll  pay  you,  my  boy,"— and  they  parted  finally 
with  Mr.  Foker  at  a  billiard-room,  where  the  latter  had 
a  particular  engagement  with  some  gentlemen  of  Colo- 
nel Swallowtail's  regiment. 

Pen  and  the  shabby  Captain  still  walked  the  street 
together;  the  Captain,  in  his  sly  way,  making  inquiries 
about  Mr.  Foker's  fortune  and  station  in  life.  Pen  told 
him  how  Foker's  father  was  a  celebrated  brewer,  and 
his  mother  was  Lady  Agnes  Milton,  Lord  Rosherville's 
daughter.  The  Captain  broke  out  into  a  strain  of  ex- 
aggerated compliment  and  panegyric  about  Mr.  Foker, 
whose  "  native  aristocracie,"  he  said,  "  could  be  seen  with 
the  twinkling  of  an  oi— and  only  served  to  adawrun 


76  PENDENNIS 

other  qualities  which  he  possessed,  a  foin  intellect  and 
a  generous  heart." 

Pen  walked  on,  listening  to  his  companion's  prate, 
wondering,  amused,  and  puzzled.  It  had  not  as  yet 
entered  into  the  boy's  head  to  disbelieve  any  statement 
that  was  made  to  him ;  and  being  of  a  candid  nature  him- 
self, he  took  naturally  for  truth  what  other  people  told 
him.  Costigan  had  never  had  a  better  listener,  and  was 
highly  flattered  by  the  attentiveness  and  modest  bearing 
of  the  young  man. 

So  much  pleased  was  he  with  the  young  gentleman, 
so  artless,  honest,  and  cheerful  did  Pen  seem  to  be,  that 
the  Captain  finally  made  him  an  invitation,  which  he 
very  seldom  accorded  to  young  men,  and  asked  Pen  if 
he  would  do  him  the  fevor  to  enter  his  humble  abode, 
which  was  near  at  hand,  where  the  Captain  would  have 
the  honour  of  inthro juicing  his  young  friend  to  his 
daughter,  Miss  Fotheringay? 

Pen  was  so  delightfully  shocked  at  this  invitation, 
that  he  thought  he  should  have  dropped  from  the  Cap- 
tain's arm  at  first,  and  trembled  lest  the  other  should 
discover  his  emotion.  He  gasped  out  a  few  incoherent 
words,  indicative  of  the  high  gratification  he  should  have 
in  being  presented  to  the  lady  for  whose — for  whose 
talents  he  had  conceived  such  an  admiration— such  an 
extreme  admiration ;  and  followed  the  Captain,  scarcely 
knowing  whither  that  gentleman  led  him.  He  was  go- 
ing to  see  her!  He  was  going  to  see  her!  In  her  was 
the  centre  of  the  universe.  She  was  the  kernel  of  the 
world  for  Pen.  Yesterday,  before  he  knew  her,  seemed 
a  period  ever  so  long  ago — a  revolution  was  between  him 
and  that  time,  and  a  new  world  about  to  begin. 

The  Captain  conducted  his  young  friend  to  that  quiet 


PENDENNIS  77 

little  street  in  Chatteris,  called  Prior's  Lane,  which  lies 
close  by  Dean's  Green  and  the  canons'  houses,  and  is 
overlooked  by  the  enormous  towers  of  the  cathedral; 
there  the  Captain  dwelt  modestly  in  the  first  floor  of  a 
low  gabled  house,  on  the  door  of  which  was  the  brass 
plate  of  "  Creed,  Tailor  and  Robe-maker."  Creed  was 
dead,  however.  His  widow  was  a  pew-opener  in  the 
cathedral  hard  by;  his  eldest  son  was  a  little  scamp  of 
a  choir-boy,  who  played  toss-halfpenny,  led  his  little 
brothers  into  mischief,  and  had  a  voice  as  sweet  as 
an  angel.  A  couple  of  the  latter  were  sitting  on  the 
door-step,  and  they  jumped  up  with  great  alacrity  to 
meet  their  lodger,  and  plunged  wildly,  and  rather  to 
Pen's  surprise,  at  the  swallow-tails  of  the  Captain's 
dresscoat;  for  the  truth  is,  that  the  good-natured  gen- 
tleman, when  he  was  in  cash,  generally  brought  home 
an  apple,  or  a  piece  of  gingerbread  for  these  children. 
'  Whereby  the  widdy  never  pressed  me  for  rint  when 
not  convanient,"  as  he  remarked  afterwards  to  Pen, 
winking  knowingly,  and  laying  a  finger  on  his  nose. 

As  Pen  followed  his  companion  up  the  creaking  old 
stair,  his  knees  trembled  under  him.  He  could  hardly 
see  when  he  entered,  following  the  Captain,  and  stood  in 
the  room — in  her  room.  He  saw  something  black  before 
him,  and  waving  as  if  making  a  curtsey,  and  heard,  but 
quite  indistinctly,  Costigan  making  a  speech  over  him, 
in  which  the  Captain,  with  his  usual  magniloquence,  ex- 
pressed to  "  me  child  "  his  wish  to  make  her  known  to 
"  his  dear  and  admirable  young  friend,  Mr.  Awther  Pin- 
dinnis,  a  young  gentleman  of  property  in  the  neighbour- 
hood, a  person  of  refoined  moind,  and  emiable  manners, 
a  sinsare  lover  of  poethry,  and  a  man  possest  of  a  feeling 
and  affectionate  heart." 


78  PENDENNIS 

"  It  is  very  fine  weather,"  Miss  Fotheringay  said,  in 
an  Irish  accent,  and  with  a  deep  rich  melancholy  voice. 

'  Very,"  said  Mr.  Pendennis.  In  this  romantic  way 
their  conversation  began;  and  he  found  himself  seated 
on  a  chair,  and  having  leisure  to  look  at  the  young  lady. 

She  looked  still  handsomer  off  the  stage  than  before 
the  lamps.  All  her  attitudes  were  naturally  grand  and 
majestical.  If  she  went  and  stood  up  against  the  man- 
tel-piece her  robe  draped  itself  classically  round  her ;  her 
chin  supported  itself  on  her  hand,  the  other  lines  of  her 
form  arranged  themselves  in  full  harmonious  undula- 
tions— she  looked  like  a  muse  in  contemplation.  If  she 
sate  down  on  a  cane-bottomed  chair,  her  arm  rounded 
itself  over  the  back  of  the  seat,  her  hand  seemed  as  if 
it  ought  to  have  a  sceptre  put  into  it,  the  folds  of  her 
dress  fell  naturally  round  her  in  order:  all  her  move- 
ments were  graceful  and  imperial.  In  the  morning  you 
could  see  her  hair  was  blue-black,  her  complexion  of 
dazzling  fairness,  with  the  faintest  possible  blush  flick- 
ering, as  it  were,  in  her  cheek.  Her  eyes  were  gray,  with 
prodigious  long  lashes ;  and  as  for  her  mouth,  Mr.  Pen- 
dennis has  given  me  subsequently  to  understand,  that 
it  was  of  a  staring  red  colour,  with  which  the  most 
brilliant  geranium,  sealing-wax,  or  Guardsman's  coat 
could  not  vie. 

"  And  very  warm,"  continued  this  empress  and 
Queen  of  Sheba. 

Mr.  Pen  again  assented,  and  the  conversation  rolled 
on  in  this  manner.  'She  asked  Costigan  whether  he  had 
had  a  pleasant  evening  at  the  George,  and  he  recounted 
the  supper  and  the  tumblers  of  punch.  Then  the  father 
asked  her  how  she  had  been  employing  the  morning. 

"  Bows  came,"  said  she,  "  at  ten,  and  we  studied  Opha- 


PENDENNIS  79 

lia.     It's  for  the  twenty-fourth,  when  I  hope,  sir,  we 
shall  have  the  honour  of  seeing  ye." 

"  Indeed,  indeed,  you  will,"  Mr.  Pendennis  cried ; 
wondering  that  she  could  say  "  Ophalia,"  and  speak 
with  an  Irish  inflection  of  voice  naturally,  who  had  not 

mt    * 

the  least  Hibernian  accent  on  the  stage. 

"  I've  secured  'um  for  your  benefit,  dear,"  said  the 
Captain,  tapping  his  waistcoat  pocket,  wherein  lay  Pen's 
sovereigns,  and  winking  at  Pen,  with  one  eye,  at  which 
the  boy  blushed. 

"  Mr. — the  gentleman's  very  obleeging,"  said  Mrs. 
Haller. 

"  My  name  is  Pendennis,"  said  Pen,  blushing.    "  I— 
I — hope  you'll — you'll  remember  it."  His  heart  thumped 
so  as  he  made  this  audacious  declaration,  that  he  almost 
choked  in  uttering  it. 

"  Pendennis  "  —she  answered  slowly,  and  looking  him 
full  in  the  eyes,  with  a  glance  so  straight,  so  clear,  so 
bright,  so  killing,  with  a  voice  so  sweet,  so  round,  so 
low,  that  the  word  and  the  glance  shot  Pen  through  and 
through,  and  perfectly  transfixed  him  with  pleasure. 

"  I  never  knew  the  name  was  so  pretty  before,"  Pen 
said. 

"  'Tis  a  very  pretty  name,"  Ophelia  said.  "  Pent- 
weazle's  not  a  pretty  name.  Remember,  papa,  when 
we  were  on  the  Norwich  Circuit,  Young  Pentweazle, 
who  used  to  play  second  old  men,  and  married  Miss 
Rancy,  the  Columbine;  they're  both  engaged  in  Lon- 
don now,  at  the  Queen's,  and  get  five  pounds  a  week. 
Pentweazle  wasn't  his  real  name.  'Twas  Judkin  gave 
it  him,  I  don't  know  why.  His  name  was  Harrington ; 
that  is,  his  real  name  was  Potts;  fawther  a  clergyman, 
very  respectable.  Harrington  was  in  London,  and  got 


80  PENDENNIS 

in  debt.  Ye  remember,  he  came  out  in  Falkland,  to 
Mrs.  Bunce's  Julia." 

"  And  a  pretty  Julia  she  was,"  the  Captain  inter- 
posed; "  a  woman  of  fifty,  and  a  mother  of  ten  children. 
'Tis  you  who  ought  to  have  been  Julia,  or  my  name's  not 
Jack  Costigan." 

"  I  didn't  take  the  leading  business  then,"  Miss  Foth- 
eringay  said  modestly;  "I  wasn't  fit  for't  till  Bows 
taught  me." 

'  True  for  you,  my  dear,"  said  the  Captain :  and 
bending  to  Pendennis,  he  added,  "  Re  juiced  in  circum- 
stances, sir,  I  was  for  some  time  a  fencing-master  in 
Dublin;  (there's  only  three  men  in  the  empire  could 
touch  me  with  the  foil  once,  but  Jack  Costigan's  get- 
ting old  and  stiff  now,  sir,)  and  my  daughter  had  an 
engagement  at  the  thayater  there;  and  'twas  there 
that  my  friend,  Mr.  Bows,  gave  her  lessons,  and  made 
her  what  ye  see.  What  have  ye  done  since  Bows  went, 
Emily? " 

"  Sure,  I've  made  a  pie,"  Emily  said,  with  perfect 
simplicity.  She  pronounced  it  "  Poy." 

"  If  ye'll  try  it  at  four  o'clock,  sir,  say  the  word," 
said  Costigan  gallantly.  '  That  girl,  sir,  makes  the  best 
veal  and  ham  pie  in  England,  and  I  think  I  can  promise 
ye  a  glass  of  punch  of  the  right  flavour." 

Pen  had  promised  to  be  home  to  dinner  at  six  o'clock, 
but  the  rascal  thought  he  could  accommodate  pleasure 
and  duty  in  this  point,  and  was  only  too  eager  to  accept 
this  invitation.  He  looked  on  with  delight  and  wonder 
whilst  Ophelia  busied  herself  about  the  room,  and  pre- 
pared for  the  dinner.  She  arranged  the  glasses,  and 
laid  and  smoothed  the  little  cloth,  all  which  duties  she 
performed  with  a  quiet  grace  and  good  humour,  which 


PENDENNIS  81 

enchanted  her  guest  more  and  more.  The  "  poy  "  ar- 
rived from  the  baker's  in  the  hands  of  one  of  the  little 
choir-boy's  brothers  at  the  proper  hour:  and  at  four 
o'clock,  Pen  found  himself  at  dinner — actually  at  din- 
ner with  the  handsomest  woman  in  all  creation — with 
his  first  and  only  love,  whom  he  had  adored  ever  since 
when? — ever  since  yesterday,  ever  since  for  ever.  He 
ate  a  crust  of  her  making,  he  poured  her  out  a  glass  of 
beer,  he  saw  her  drink  a  glass  of  punch — just  one  wine- 
glass full — out  of  the  tumbler  which  she  mixed  for  her 
papa.  She  was  perfectly  good-natured,  and  offered  to 
mix  one  for  Pendennis  too.  It  was  prodigiously  strong ; 
Pen  had  never  in  his  life  drunk  so  much  spirits  and 
water.  Was  it  the  punch,  or  the  punch-maker  who  in- 
toxicated him? 

Pen  tried  to  engage  her  in  conversation  about  poetry 
and  about  her  profession.  He  asked  her  what  she 
thought  of  Ophelia's  madness,  and  whether  she  was  in 
love  with  Hamlet  or  not?  "  In  love  with  such  a  little 
ojus  wretch  as  that  stunted  manager  of  a  Bingley?  " 
She  bristled  with  indignation  at  the  thought.  Pen  ex- 
plained it  was  not  of  her  he  spoke,  but  of  Ophelia  of  the 
play.  "  Oh,  indeed ;  if  no  offence  was  meant,  none  was 
taken:  but  as  for  Bingley,  indeed,  she  did  not  value 
him — not  that  glass  of  punch."  Pen  next  tried  her  on 
Kotzebue.  "  Kotzebue?  who  was  he?  " — "  The  author 
of  the  play  in  which  she  had  been  performing  so  admir- 
ably." "  She  did  not  know  that— the  man's  name  at  the 
beginning  of  the  book  was  Thompson,"  she  said.  Pen 
laughed  at  her  adorable  simplicity.  He  told  her  of  the 
melancholy  fate  of  the  author  of  the  play,  and  how  Sand 
had  killed  him.  It  was  the  first  time  in  her  life  that  Miss 
Costigan  had  ever  heard  of  Mr.  Kotzebue's  existence, 


82  PENDENNIS 

but  she  looked  as  if  she  was  very  much  interested,  and 
her  sympathy  sufficed  for  honest  Pen. 

And  in  the  midst  of  this  simple  conversation,  the  hour 
and  a  quarter  which  poor  Pen  could  afford  to  allow  him- 
self, passed  away  only  too  quickly;  and  he  had  taken 
leave,  he  was  gone,  and  away  on  his  rapid  road  home- 
wards on  the  back  of  Rebecca.  She  was  called  upon  to 
show  her  mettle  in  the  three  journeys  which  she  made 
that  day. 

'  What  was  that  he  was  talking  about,  the  madness 
of  Hamlet,  and  the  theory  of  the  great  German  critic 
on  the  subject?  "  Emily  asked  of  her  father. 

"  'Deed  then  I  don't  know,  Milly  dear,"  answered  the 
Captain.  '  We'll  ask  Bows  when  he  comes." 

"  Anyhow,  he's  a  nice,  fair-spoken  pretty  young 
man,"  the  lady  said :  "  how  many  tickets  did  he  take  of 
you?  " 

"  'Faith,  then,  he  took  six,  and  gev  me  two  guineas, 
Milly,"  the  Captain  said.  "  I  suppose  them  young  chaps 
is  not  too  flush  of  coin." 

"  He's  full  of  book-learning,"  Miss  Fotheringay  con- 
tinued. ;'Kotzebue!  He,  he,  what  a  droll  name  indeed, 
now;  and  the  poor  fellow  killed  by  Sand,  too!  Did  ye 
ever  hear  such  a  thing?  I'll  ask  Bows  about  it,  papa 
dear." 

"  A  queer  death,  sure  enough,"  ejaculated  the  Cap- 
tain, and  changed  the  painful  theme.  'Tis  an  elegant 
mare  the  young  gentleman  rides,"  Costigan  went  on  to 
say;  "  and  a  grand  breakfast,  intirely,  that  young  Mis- 
ter Foker  gave  us." 

"  He's  good  for  two  private  boxes,  and  at  leest  twenty 
tickets,  I  should  say,"  cried  the  daughter,  a  prudent 
lass,  who  always  kept  her  fine  eyes  on  the  main  chance. 


PENDENNIS  83 

"I'll  go  bail  of  that,"  answered  the  Papa;  and  so 
their  conversation  continued  awhile,  until  the  tumbler 
of  punch  was  finished ;  and  their  hour  of  departure  soon 
came,  too;  for  at  half -past  six  Miss  Fotheringay  was 
to  appear  at  the  theatre  again,  whither  her  father  always 


accompanied  her;  and  stood,  as  we  have  seen,  in  the 
side-scene  watching  her,  and  drank  spirits-and-water  in 
the  green-room  with  the  company  there. 

"  How  beautiful  she  is,"  thought  Pen,  cantering 
homewards.  "  How  simple  and  how  tender!  How 
charming  it  is  to  see  a  woman  of  her  genius  busying  her- 
self with  the  humble  offices  of  domestic  life,  cooking 
dishes  to  make  her  old  father  comfortable,  and  brewing 


84  PENDENNIS 

him  drink!  How  rude  it  was  of  me  to  begin  to  talk 
about  professional  matters,  and  how  well  she  turned  the 
conversation!  By-the-way,  she  talked  about  profes- 
sional matters  herself;  but  then  with  what  fun  and 
humour  she  told  the  story  of  her  comrade,  Pentweazle, 
as  he  was  called !  There  is  no  humour  like  Irish  humour. 
Her  father  is  rather  tedious,  but  thoroughly  amiable; 
and  how  fine  of  him,  giving  lessons  in  fencing  after  he 
quitted  the  army,  where  he  was  the  pet  of  the  Duke  of 
Kent!  Fencing!  I  should  like  to  continue  my  fencing, 
or  I  shall  forget  what  Angelo  taught  me.  Uncle  Arthur 
always  liked  me  to  fence— he  says  it  is  the  exercise  of 
a  gentleman.  Hang  it.  I'll  take  some  lessons  of  Cap- 
tain Costigan.  Go  along,  Rebecca— up  the  hill,  old 
lady.  Pendennis,  Pendennis— how  she  spoke  the  word! 
Emily,  Emily!  how  good,  how  noble,  how  beautiful, 
how  perfect,  she  is !  " 

Now  the  reader,  who  has  had  the  benefit  of  overhear- 
ing the  entire  conversation  which  Pen  had  with  Miss 
Fotheringay,  can  judge  for  himself  about  the  powers 
of  her  mind,  and  may  perhaps  be  disposed  to  think  that 
she  has  not  said  anything  astonishingly  humorous  or 
intellectual  in  the  course  of  the  above  interview. 

But  what  did  our  Pen  care?  He  saw  a  pair  of  bright 
eyes,  and  he  believed  in  them— a  beautiful  image,  and  he 
fell  down  and  worshipped  it.  He  supplied  the  meaning 
which  her  words  wanted ;  and  created  the  divinity  which 
he  loved.  Was  Titania  the  first  who  fell  in  love  with  an 
ass,  or  Pygmalion  the  only  artist  who  has  gone  crazy 
about  a  stone?  He  had  found  her;  he  had  found  what 
his  soul  thirsted  after.  He  flung  himself  into  the  stream 
and  drank  with  all  his  might.  Let  those  who  have  been 
thirsty  own  how  delicious  that  first  draught  is.  As  he 


PENDENNIS  85 

rode  down  the  avenue  towards  home— Pen  shrieked  with 
laughter  as  he  saw  the  Reverend  Mr.  Smirke  once  more 
coming  demurely  away  from  Fairoaks  on  his  pony. 
Smirke  had  dawdled  and  stayed  at  the  cottages  on  the 
way,  and  then  dawdled  with  Laura  over  her  lessons — and 
then  looked  at  Mrs.  Pendennis's  gardens  and  improve- 
ments until  he  had  perfectly  bored  out  that  lady :  and  he 
had  taken  his  leave  at  the  very  last  minute  without  that 
invitation  to  dinner  which  he  fondly  expected. 

Pen  was  full  of  kindness  and  triumph.  '*  What, 
picked  up  and  sound?  "  he  cried  out  laughing.  "  Come 
along  back,  old  fellow,  and  eat  my  dinner — I  have  had 
mine :  but  we  will  have  a  bottle  of  the  old  wine  and  drink 
her  health,  Smirke." 

Poor  Smirke  turned  the  pony's  head  round,  and 
jogged  along  with  Arthur.  His  mother  was  charmed  to 
see  him  in  such  high  spirits,  and  welcomed  Mr.  Smirke 
for  his  sake,  when  Arthur  said  he  had  forced  the  curate 
back  to  dine.  He  gave  a  most  ludicrous  account  of  the 
play  of  the  night  before,  and  of  the  acting  of  Bingley 
the  Manager,  in  his  ricketty  Hessians,  and  the  enormous 
Mrs.  Bingley  as  the  Countess,  in  rumpled  green  satin 
and  a  Polish  cap:  he  mimicked  them,  and  delighted  his 
mother  and  little  Laura,  who  clapped  her  hands  with 
pleasure. 

"  And  Mrs.  Haller? "  said  Mrs.  Pendennis. 

"  She's  a  stunner,  ma'am,"  Pen  said,  laughing,  and 
using  the  words  of  his  revered  friend,  Mr.  Foker. 

"  A  what,  Arthur?  "  asked  the  lady. 

'  What  is  a  stunner,  Arthur?  "  cried  Laura,  in  the 
same  voice. 

So  he  gave  them  a  queer  account  of  Mr.  Foker,  and 
how  he  used  to  be  called  Vats  and  Grains,  and  bv  other 


86  PENDENNIS 

contumelious  names  at  school:  and  how  he  was  now 
exceedingly  rich,  and  a  Fellow  Commoner  at  St.  Boni- 
face. But  gay  and  communicative  as  he  was,  Mr.  Pen 
did  not  say  one  syllable  about  his  ride  to  Chatteris  that 
day,  or  about  the  new  friends  whom  he  had  made  there. 

When  the  two  ladies  retired,  Pen,  with  flashing  eyes, 
filled  up  two  great  bumpers  of  Madeira,  and  looking 
Smirke  full  in  the  face  said,  "  Here's  to  her!  " 

"  Here's  to  her,"  said  the  curate  with  a  sigh,  lifting 
the  glass:  and  emptying  it,  so  that  his  face  was  a  little 
pink  when  he  put  it  down. 

Pen  had  even  less  sleep  that  night  than  on  the  night 
before.  In  the  morning,  and  almost  before  dawn,  he 
went  out  and  saddled  that  unfortunate  Rebecca  himself, 
and  rode  her  on  the  Downs  like  mad.  Again  Love  had 
roused  him— and  said,  "  Awake,  Pendennis,  I  am  here." 
That  charming  fever — that  delicious  longing — and  fire, 
and  uncertainty;  he  hugged  them  to  him — he  would  not 
have  lost  them  for  all  the  world. 


CHAPTER  VI 


CONTAINS  BOTH  LOVE  AND  WAS. 


ICERO  and  Eu- 
ripides did  not 
occupy  Mr.  Pen 
much  for  some 
time  after  this, 
and  honest  Mr. 
Smirke  had 


a  very  easy 
time  with 
his  pupil. 
Rebecca  was 
the  animal 
who  suffer- 
ed most  in 
the  present 

state  of  Pen's  mind,  for,  besides  those  days  when  he  could 
publicly  announce  his  intention  of  going  to  Chatteris  to 
take  a  fencing-lesson,  and  went  thither  with  the  know- 
ledge of  his  mother,  whenever  he  saw  three  hours  clear 
before  him,  the  young  rascal  made  a  rush  for  the  city, 
and  found  his  way  to  Prior's  Lane.  He  was  as  frantic 
with  vexation  when  Rebecca  went  lame,  as  Richard  at 
Bosworth,  when  his  horse  was  killed  under  him:  and 
got  deeply  into  the  books  of  the  man  who  kept  the  hunt- 
ing stables  at  Chatteris  for  the  doctoring  of  his  own,  and 
the  hire  of  another  animal. 

87 


88  PENDENNIS 

Then,  and  perhaps  once  in  a  week,  under  pre- 
tence of  going  to  read  a  Greek  play  with  Smirke,  this 
young  reprobate  set  off  so  as  to  be  in  time  for  the  Com- 
petitor down  coach,  stayed  a  couple  of  hours  in  Chat- 
teris,  and  returned  on  the  Rival,  which  left  for  London 
at  ten  at  night.  Once  his  secret  was  nearly  lost  by 
Smirke's  simplicity,  of  whom  Mrs.  Pendennis  asked 
whether  they  had  read  a  great  deal  the  night  before,  or 
a  question  to  that  effect.  Smirke  was  about  to  tell  the 
truth,  that  he  had  never  seen  Mr.  Pen  at  all,  when  the 
latter's  boot-heel  came  grinding  down  on  Mr.  Smirke's 
toe  under  the  table,  and  warned  the  curate  not  to  betray 
him. 

They  had  had  conversations  on  the  tender  subject  of 
course.  There  must  be  a  confidant  and  depositary  some- 
where. When  informed,  under  the  most  solemn  vows 
of  secrecy,  of  Pen's  condition  of  mind,  the  curate  said, 
with  no  small  tremor,  "  that  he  hoped  it  was  no  unworthy 
object— no  unlawful  attachment,  which  Pen  had 
formed  "  —for  if  so,  the  poor  fellow  felt  it  would  be  his 
duty  to  break  his  vow  and  inform  Pen's  mother,  and 
then  there  would  be  a  quarrel,  he  felt,  with  sickening 
apprehension,  and  he  would  never  again  have  a  chance 
of  seeing  what  he  most  liked  in  the  world. 

"  Unlawful,  unworthy! "  Pen  bounced  out  at  the  cu- 
rate's question.  "  She  is  as  pure  as  she  is  beautiful;  I 
would  give  my  heart  to  no  other  woman.  I  keep  the 
matter  a  secret  in  my  family,  because— because— there 
are  reasons  of  a  weighty  nature  which  I  am  not  at  liberty 
to  disclose.  But  any  man  who  breathes  a  word  against 
her  purity  insults  both  her  honour  and  mine,  and— and 
dammy,  I  won't  stand  it." 

Smirke,  with  a  faint  laugh,  only  said,  "  Well,  well, 


PENDENNIS  89 

don't  call  me  out,  Arthur,  for  you  know  I  can't  fight:  " 
but  by  this  compromise  the  wretched  curate  was  put 
more  than  ever  into  the  power  of  his  pupil,  and  the  Greek 
and  mathematics  suffered  correspondingly. 

If  the  reverend  gentleman  had  had  much  discern- 
ment, and  looked  into  the  Poets'  corner  of  the  County 
Chronicle,  as  it  arrived  in  the  Wednesday's  bag,  he 
might  have  seen  "  Mrs.  Haller,"  "  Passion  and  Genius," 
"  Lines  to  Miss  Fotheringay,  of  the  Theatre  Royal," 
appearing  every  week;  and  other  verses  of  the  most 
gloomy,  thrilling,  and  passionate  cast.  But  as  these 
poems  were  no  longer  signed  NEP  by  their  artful  com- 
poser, but  subscribed  EROS,  neither  the  tutor  nor 
Helen,  the  good  soul,  who  cut  all  her  son's  verses  out  of 
the  paper,  knew  that  Nep  was  no  other  than  that  flam- 
ing Eros,  who  sang  so  vehemently  the  charms  of  the  new 
actress. 

"  Who  is  the  lady,"  at  last  asked  Mrs.  Pendennis, 
"  whom  your  rival  is  always  singing  in  the  County 
Chronicle?  He  writes  something  like  you,  dear  Pen, 
but  yours  is  much  the  best.  Have  you  seen  Miss  Foth- 
eringay? " 

Pen  said  yes,  he  had;  that  night  he  went  to  see  the 
"  Stranger,"  she  acted  Mrs.  Haller.  By  the  way  she 
was  going  to  have  a  benefit,  and  was  to  appear  in  Ophe- 
lia—suppose we  were  to  go— Shakspeare  you  know, 
mother — we  can  get  horses  from  the  Clavering  Arms. 
Little  Laura  sprang  up  with  delight,  she  longed  for  a 
play. 

Pen  introduced  "  Shakspeare  you  know,"  because  the 
deceased  Pendennis,  as  became  a  man  of  his  character, 
professed  an  uncommon  respect  for  the  bard  of  Avon, 
in  whose  works  he  safely  said  there  was  more  poetry 


90  PENDENNIS 

than  in  all  "  Johnson's  Poets "  put  together.  And 
though  Mr.  Pendennis  did  not  much  read  the  works  in 
question,  yet  he  enjoined  Pen  to  peruse  them,  and  often 
said  what  pleasure  he  should  have,  when  the  boy  was 
of  a  proper  age,  in  taking  him  and  mother  to  see  some 
good  plays  of  the  immortal  poet. 

The  ready  tears  welled  up  in  the  kind  mother's  eyes 
as  she  remembered  these  speeches  of  the  man  who  was 
gone.  She  kissed  her  son  fondly,  and  said  she  would 
go.  Laura  jumped  for  joy.  Was  Pen  happy? — was 
he  ashamed?  As  he  held  his  mother  to  him,  he  longed 
to  tell  her  all,  but  he  kept  his  counsel.  He  would  see 
how  his  mother  liked  her ;  the  play  should  be  the  thing, 
and  he  would  try  his  mother  like  Hamlet's. 

Helen,  in  her  good  humour,  asked  Mr.  Smirke  to  be 
of  the  party.  That  ecclesiastic  had  been  bred  up  by 
a  fond  parent  at  Clapham,  who  had  an  objection  to  dra- 
matic entertainments,  and  he  had  never  yet  seen  a  play. 
But,  Shakspeare! — but  to  go  with  Mrs.  Pendennis  in 
her  carriage,  and  sit  a  whole  night  by  her  side!— he  could 
not  resist  the  idea  of  so  much  pleasure,  and  made  a 
feeble  speech,  in  which  he  spoke  of  temptation  and  grat- 
itude, and  finally  accepted  Mrs.  Pendennis's  most  kind 
offer.  As  he  spoke  he  gave  her  a  look,  which  made  her 
exceedingly  uncomfortable.  She  had  seen  that  look 
more  than  once,  of  late,  pursuing  her.  He  became  more 
positively  odious  every  day  in  the  widow's  eyes. 

We  are  not  going  to  say  a  great  deal  about  Pen's 
courtship  of  Miss  Fotheringay,  for  the  reader  has  al- 
ready had  a  specimen  of  her  conversation,  much  of 
which  need  surely  not  be  reported.  Pen  sate  with  her 
hour  after  hour,  and  poured  forth  all  his  honest  boyish 


PENDENNIS  91 

soul  to  her.  Everything  he  knew,  or  hoped,  or  felt,  or 
had  read,  or  fancied,  he  told  to  her.  He  never  tired  of 
talking  and  longing.  One  after  another,  as  his  thoughts 
rose  in  his  hot  eager  brain,  he  clothed  them  in  words,  and 
told  them  to  her.  Her  part  of  the  tete-a-tete  was  not 
to  talk,  but  to  appear  as  if  she  understood  what  Pen 
talked,  and  to  look  exceedingly  handsome  and  sympa- 
thising. The  fact  is,  whilst  he  was  making  one  of  his 
tirades,  the  lovely  Emily,  who  could  not  comprehend  a 
tenth  part  of  his  talk,  had  leisure  to  think  about  her 
own  affairs,  and  would  arrange  in  her  own  mind  how 
they  should  dress  the  cold  mutton,  or  how  she  would 
turn  the  black  satin,  or  make  herself  out  of  her  scarf  a 
bonnet  like  Miss  Thackthwaite's  new  one,  and  so  forth. 
Pen  spouted  Byron  and  Moore ;  passion  and  poetry :  her 
business  was  to  throw  up  her  eyes,  or  fixing  them  for  a 
moment  on  his  face,  to  cry,  "  Oh,  'tis  beautiful!  Ah, 
how  exquisite !  Repeat  those  lines  again."  And  off  the 
boy  went,  and  she  returned  to  her  own  simple  thoughts 
about  the  turned  gown,  or  the  hashed  mutton. 

In  fact  Pen's  passion  was  not  long  a  secret  from  the 
lovely  Emily  or  her  father.  Upon  his  second  visit,  his 
admiration  was  quite  evident  to  both  of  them,  and  on 
his  departure  the  old  gentleman  said  to  his  daughter,  as 
he  winked  at  her  over  his  glass  of  grog,  "  Faith,  Milly 
darling,  I  think  ye've  hooked  that  chap." 

"  Pooh,  'tis  only  a  boy,  papa  dear,"  Milly  remarked. 
"  Sure  he's  but  a  child." 

"  Ye've  hooked  'um  anyhow,"  said  the  Captain,  "  and 
let  me  tell  ye  he's  not  a  bad  fish.  I  asked  Tom  at  the 
George,  and  Flint,  the  grocer,  where  his  mother  dales— 
fine  fortune — drives  in  her  chariot— splendid  park  and 
grounds — Fairoaks  Park— only  son — property  all  his 


92  PENDENNIS 

own  at  twenty-one — ye  might  go  further  and  not  fare 
so  well,  Miss  Fotheringay." 

"  Them  boys  are  mostly  talk,"  said  Milly  seriously. 
"  Ye  know  at  Dublin  how  ye  went  on  about  young  Pol- 
doody,  and  I've  a  whole  desk  full  of  verses  he  wrote  me 
when  he  was  in  Trinity  College;  but  he  went  abroad, 
and  his  mother  married  him  to  an  Englishwoman." 

"  Lord  Poldoody  was  a  young  nobleman ;  and  in  them 
it's  natural:  and  ye  weren't  in  the  position  in  which  ye 
are  now,  Milly  dear.  But  ye  mustn't  encourage  this 
young  chap  too  much,  for,  bedad,  Jack  Costigan  won't 
have  any  thrifling  with  his  daughter." 

"  No  more  will  his  daughter,  papa,  you  may  be  sure 
of  that"  Milly  said.    "A  little  sip  more  of  the  punch,— 
sure,  'tis  beautiful.     Ye  needn't  be  afraid  about  the 
young  chap — I  think  I'm  old  enough  to  take  care  of 
myself,  Captain  Costigan." 

So  Pen  used  to  come  day  after  day,  rushing  in  and 
galloping  away,  and  growing  more  wild  about  the  girl 
with  every  visit.  Sometimes  the  Captain  was  present 
at  their  meetings;  but  having  a  perfect  confidence  in 
his  daughter,  he  was  more  often  inclined  to  leave  the 
young  couple  to  themselves,  and  cocked  his  hat  over  his 
eye,  and  strutted  off  on  some  errand  when  Pen  entered. 
How  delightful  those  interviews  were!  The  Captain's 
drawing-room  was  a  low  wainscotted  room,  with  a  large 
window  looking  into  the  Dean's  garden.  There  Pen 
sate  and  talked— and  talked  to  Emily,  looking  beauti- 
ful as  she  sate  at  her  work — looking  beautiful  and  calm, 
and  the  sunshine  came  streaming  in  at  the  great  win- 
dows, and  lighted  up  her  superb  face  and  form.  In  the 
midst  of  the  conversation,  the  great  bell  would  begin  to 
boom,  and  he  would  pause  smiling,  and  be  silent  until 


PENDENNIS  93 

the  sound  of  the  vast  music  died  away — or  the  rooks  in 
the  cathedral  elms  would  make  a  great  noise  towards 
sunset — or  the  sound  of  the  organ  and  the  choristers 
would  come  over  the  quiet  air,  and  gently  hush  Pen's 
talking. 

By  the  way,  it  must  be  said,  that  Miss  Fotheringay, 
in  a  plain  shawl  and  a  close  bonnet  and  veil,  went  to 
church  every  Sunday  of  her  life,  accompanied  by  her 
indefatigable  father,  who  gave  the  responses  in  a  very 
rich  and  fine  brogue,  joined  in  the  psalms  and  chanting, 
and  behaved  in  the  most  exemplary  manner. 

Little  Bows,  the  house-friend  of  the  family,  was  ex- 
ceedingly wroth  at  the  notion  of  Miss  Fotheringay's 
marriage  with  a  stripling  seven  or  eight  years  her  junior. 
Bows,  who  was  a  cripple,  and  owned  that  he  was  a  little 
more  deformed  even  than  Bingley  the  manager,  so  that 
he  could  not  appear  on  the  stage,  was  a  singular  wild 
man  of  no  small  talents  and  humour.  Attracted  first 
by  Miss  Fotheringay's  beauty,  he  began  to  teach  her 
how  to  act.  He  shrieked  out  in  his  cracked  voice  the 
parts,  and  his  pupil  learned  them  from  his  lips  by  rote, 
and  repeated  them  in  her  full  rich  tones.  He  indicated 
the  attitudes,  and  set  and  moved  those  beautiful  arms 
of  hers.  Those  who  remember  this  grand  actress  on  the 
stage  can  recal  how  she  used  always  precisely  the  same 
gestures,  looks,  and  tones;  how  she  stood  on  the  same 
plank  of  the  stage  in  the  same  position,  rolled  her  eyes 
at  the  same  instant  and  to  the  same  degree,  and  wept 
with  precisely  the  same  heart-rending  pathos  and  over 
the  same  pathetic  syllable.  And  after  she  had  come  out 
trembling  with  emotion  before  the  audience,  and  look- 
ing so  exhausted  and  tearful  that  you  fancied  she  would 
faint  with  sensibility,  she  would  gather  up  her  hair  the 


94  PENDENNIS 

instant  she  was  behind  the  curtain,  and  go  home  to  a 
mutton  chop  and  a  glass  of  brown  stout;  and  the  har- 
rowing labours  of  the  day  over,  she  went  to  bed  and 
snored  as  resolutely  and  as  regularly  as  a  porter. 

Bows  then  was  indignant  at  the  notion  that  his  pupil 
should  throw  her  chances  away  in  life  by  bestowing  her 
hand  upon  a  little  country  squire.  As  soon  as  a  London 
manager  saw  her  he  prophesied  that  she  would  get  a 
London  engagement,  and  a  great  success.  The  misfor- 
tune was  that  the  London  managers  had  seen  her.  She 
had  played  in  London  three  years  before,  and  had  failed 
from  utter  stupidity.  Since  then  it  was  that  Bows  had 
taken  her  in  hand  and  taught  her  part  after  part.  How 
he  worked  and  screamed,  and  twisted,  and  repeated  lines 
over  and  over  again,  and  with  what  indomitable  patience 
and  dullness  she  followed  him !  She  knew  that  he  made 
her:  and  let  herself  be  made.  She  was  not  grateful,  or 
ungrateful,  or  unkind,  or  ill  humoured.  She  was  only 
stupid ;  and  Pen  was  madly  in  love  with  her. 

The  post-horses  from  the  Clavering  Arms  arrived  in 
due  time,  and  carried  the  party  to  the  theatre  at  Chat- 
teris,  where  Pen  was  gratified  in  perceiving  that  a  tol- 
erably large  audience  was  assembled.  The  young 
gentlemen  from  Baymouth  had  a  box,  in  the  front  of 
which  sate  Mr.  Foker  and  his  friend  Mr.  Spavin  splen- 
didly attired  in  the  most  full-blown  evening  costume. 
They  saluted  Pen  in  a  cordial  manner,  and  examined  his 
party,  of  which  they  approved,  for  little  Laura  was  a 
pretty  little  red-cheeked  girl  with  a  quantity  of  shining 
brown  ringlets,  and  Mrs.  Pendennis  dressed  in  black 
velvet  with  the  diamond  cross  which  she  sported  on  great 
occasions,  looked  uncommonly  handsome  and  majestic. 
Behind  these  sate  Mr.  Arthur,  and  the  gentle  Smirke 


PENDENNIS  95 

with  the  curl  reposing  on  his  fair  forehead,  and  his  white 
tie  in  perfect  order.  He  blushed  to  find  himself  in  such 
a  place — but  how  happy  was  he  to  be  there.  He  and 
Mrs.  Pendennis  brought  books  of  "  Hamlet  "  with  them 
to  follow  the  tragedy,  as  is  the  custom  of  honest  country- 
folks who  go  to  a  play  in  state.  Samuel,  coachman, 
groom,  and  gardener  to  Mrs.  Pendennis,  took  his  place 
in  the  pit,  where  Mr.  Foker's  man  was  also  visible.  It 
was  dotted  with  non-commissioned  officers  of  the  Dra- 
goons, whose  band,  by  kind  permission  of  Colonel  Swal- 
lowtail, were,  as  usual,  in  the  orchestra ;  and  that  corpu- 
lent and  distinguished  warrior  himself,  with  his  Waterloo 
medal  and  a  number  of  his  young  men,  made  a  hand- 
some show  in  the  boxes. 

'  Who  is  that  odd-looking  person  bowing  to  you,  Ar- 
thur? "  Mrs.  Pendennis  asked  of  her  son. 

Pen  blushed  a  great  deal.  "  His  name  is  Captain 
Costigan,  ma'am,"  he  said — "  a  Peninsular  officer."  In 
fact  it  was  the  Captain  in  a  new  shoot  of  clothes,  as  he 
called  them,  and  with  a  large  pair  of  white  kid  gloves, 
one  of  which  he  waved  to  Pendennis,  whilst  he  laid  the 
other  sprawling  over  his  heart  and  coat-buttons.  Pen 
did  not  say  any  more.  And  how  was  Mrs.  Pendennis 
to  know  that  Mr.  Costigan  was  the  father  of  Miss  Foth- 
eringay? 

Mr.  Hornbull,  from  London,  was  the  Hamlet  of  the 
night,  Mr.  Bingley  modestly  contenting  himself  with 
the  part  of  Horatio,  and  reserving  his  chief  strength  for 
William  in  "  Black-eyed  Susan,"  which  was  the  second 
piece. 

We  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  play:  except  to  say, 
that  Ophelia  looked  lovely,  and  performed  with  admir- 
able wild  pathos:  laughing,  weeping,  gazing  wildly, 


96  PENDENNIS 

waving  her  beautiful  white  arms,  and  flinging  about  her 
snatches  of  flowers  and  songs  with  the  most  charming 
madness.  What  an  opportunity  her  splendid  black  hair 
had  of  tossing  over  her  shoulders!  She  made  the  most 
charming  corpse  ever  seen;  and  while  Hamlet  and 
Laertes  were  battling  in  her  grave,  she  was  looking  out 
from  the  back  scenes  with  some  curiosity  towards  Pen's 
box,  and  the  family  party  assembled  in  it. 

There  was  but  one  voice  in  her  praise  there.  Mrs. 
Pendennis  was  in  ecstacies  with  her  beauty.  Little 
Laura  was  bewildered  by  the  piece,  and  the  Ghost,  and 
the  play  within  the  play  (during  which,  as  Hamlet  lay 
at  Ophelia's  knee,  Pen  felt  that  he  would  have  liked  to 
strangle  Mr.  Hornbull ) ,  but  cried  out  great  praises  of 
that  beautiful  young  creature.  Pen  was  charmed  with 
the  effect  which  she  produced  on  his  mother— and  the 
clergyman,  for  his  part,  was  exceedingly  enthusiastic. 

When  the  curtain  fell  upon  that  group  of  slaughtered 
personages,  who  are  dispatched  so  suddenly  at  the  end 
of  "  Hamlet,"  and  whose  demise  astonished  poor  little 
Laura  not  a  little,  there  was  an  immense  shouting  and 
applause  from  all  quarters  of  the  house;  the  intrepid 
Smirke,  violently  excited,  clapped  his  hands,  and  cried 
out  "  Bravo,  Bravo,"  as  loud  as  the  Dragoon  officers 
themselves.  These  were  greatly  moved,— its  s'agitaient 
sur  leurs  banes,— io  borrow  a  phrase  from  our  neigh- 
bours. They  were  led  cheering  into  action  by  the  portly 
Swallowtail,  who  waved  his  cap — the  non-commissioned 
officers  in  the  pit,  of  course,  gallantly  following  their 
chiefs.  There  was  a  roar  of  bravos  rang  through  the 
house ;  Pen  bellowing  with  the  loudest.  "  Fotheringay ! 
Fotheringay! "  Messrs.  Spavin  and  Foker  giving  the 
view  halloo  from  their  box.  Even  Mrs.  Pendennis  be- 


PENDENNIS 


97 


gan  to  wave  about  her  pocket-handkerchief,  and  little 
Laura  danced,  laughed,  clapped,  and  looked  up  at  Pen 
with  wonder. 

Hornbull  led  the  beneficiaire  forward,  amidst  bursts 
of  enthusiasm— and  she  looked  so  handsome  and  radiant, 
with  her  hair  still  over  her  shoulders,  that  Pen  hardly 


could  contain  himself  for  rapture:  and  he  leaned  over 
his  mother's  chair,  and  shouted,  and  hurrayed,  and  waved 
his  hat.  It  was  all  he  could  do  to  keep  his  secret  from 
Helen,  and  not  say,  "  Look!  That's  the  woman!  Isn't 
she  peerless?  I  tell  you  I  love  her."  But  he  disguised 
these  feelings  under  an  enormous  bellowing  and  hurray- 
ing. 

As   for  Miss   Fotheringay   and   her  behaviour,   the 
reader  is  referred  to  a  former  page  for  an  account  of 


98  PENDENNIS 

that.  She  went  through  precisely  the  same  business. 
She  surveyed  the  house  all  round  with  glances  of  grati- 
tude ;  and  trembled,  and  almost  sank  with  emotion,  over 
her  favourite  trap-door.  She  seized  the  flowers  ( Foker 
discharged  a  prodigious  bouquet  at  her,  and  even  Smirke 
made  a  feeble  shy  with  a  rose,  and  blushed  dreadfully 
when  it  fell  into  the  pit) — she  seized  the  flowers  and 
pressed  them  to  her  swelling  heart — &c.,  &c.— in  a 
word — we  refer  the  reader  to  page  57.  Twinkling 
in  her  breast  poor  old  Pen  saw  a  locket  which  he  had 
bought  of  Mr.  Nathan  in  High  Street,  with  the  last  shil- 
ling he  was  worth,  and  a  sovereign  borrowed  from 
Smirke. 

"  Black -eyed  Susan  "  followed,  at  which  sweet  story 
our  gentle-hearted  friends  were  exceedingly  charmed 
and  affected:  and  in  which  Susan,  with  a  russet  gown 
and  a  pink  ribbon  in  her  cap,  looked  to  the  full  as  lovely 
as  Ophelia.  Bingley  was  great  in  William.  Goll,  as 
the  Admiral,  looked  like  the  figure-head  of  a  seventy- 
four;  and  Garbetts,  as  Captain  Boldweather,  a  miscre- 
ant who  forms  a  plan  for  carrying  off  Black-eyed  Susan, 
and  waving  an  immense  cocked  hat,  says,  "  Come  what 
may,  he  will  be  the  ruin  of  her  "  —all  these  performed 
their  parts  with  their  accustomed  talent ;  and  it  was  with 
a  sincere  regret  that  all  our  friends  saw  the  curtain  drop 
down  and  end  that  pretty  and  tender  story. 

If  Pen  had  been  alone  with  his  mother  in  the  carriage 
as  they  went  home,  he  would  have  told  her  all  that  night ; 
but  he  sate  on  the  box  in  the  moonshine  smoking  a  cigar 
by  the  side  of  Smirke,  who  warmed  himself  with  a  com- 
forter. Mr.  Foker's  tandem  and  lamps  whirled  by  the 
sober  old  Clavering  posters,  as  they  were  a  couple  of 
miles  on  their  road  home,  and  Mr.  Spavin  saluted  Mrs. 


PENDENNIS  99 

Pendennis's  carriage  with  some  considerable  variations 
of  Rule  Britannia  on  the  key-bugle. 

It  happened  two  days  after  the  above  gaieties  that  the 
Dean  of  Chatteris  entertained  a  few  select  clerical 
friends  at  dinner  at  his  Deanery  House.  That  they 
drank  uncommonly  good  port  wine,  and  abused  the 
Bishop  over  their  dessert,  are  very  likely  matters:  but 
with  such  we  have  nothing  at  present  to  do.  Our  friend 
Doctor  Portman  of  Clavering,  was  one  of  the  Dean's 
guests,  and  being  a  gallant  man,  and  seeing  from  his 
place  at  the  mahogany,  the  Dean's  lady  walking  up  and 
down  the  grass,  with  her  children  sporting  around  her, 
and  her  pink  parasol  over  her  lovely  head — the  Doctor 
stept  out  of  the  French  windows  of  the  dining-room  into 
the  lawn,  which  skirts  that  apartment,  and  left  the  other 
white  neck-cloths  to  gird  at  my  Lord  Bishop.  Then  the 
Doctor  went  up  and  offered  Mrs.  Dean  his  arm,  and 
they  sauntered  over  the  ancient  velvet  lawn,  which  had 
been  mowed  and  rolled  for  immemorial  Deans,  in  that 
easy,  quiet,  comfortable  manner,  in  which  people  of 
middle  age  and  good  temper  walk  after  a  good  dinner, 
in  a  calm  golden  summer  evening,  when  the  sun  has  but 
just  sunk  behind  the  enormous  cathedral  towers,  and 
the  sickle-shaped  moon  is  growing  every  instant  brighter 
in  the  heavens. 

Now  at  the  end  of  the  Dean's  garden,  there  is,  as  we 
have  stated,  Mrs.  Creed's  house,  and  the  windows  of  the 
first-floor  room  were  open  to  admit  the  pleasant  sum- 
mer air.  A  young  lady  of  six-and-twenty,  whose  eyes 
were  perfectly  wide  open,  and  a  luckless  boy  of  eighteen, 
blind  with  love  and  infatuation,  were  in  that  chamber 
together ;  in  which  persons,  as  we.  have  before  seen  them 


100  PENDENNIS 

in  the  same  place,  the  reader  will  have  no  difficulty  in 
recognising  Mr.  Arthur  Pendennis  and  Miss  Costigan. 

The  poor  boy  had  taken  the  plunge.  Trembling  with 
passionate  emotion,  his  heart  beating  and  throbbing 
fiercely,  tears  rushing  forth  in  spite  of  him,  his  voice  al- 
most choking  with  feeling,  poor  Pen  had  said  those 
words  which  he  could  withhold  no  more,  and  flung  him- 
self and  his  whole  store  of  love,  and  admiration,  and 
ardour,  at  the  feet  of  this  mature  beauty.  Is  he  the  first 
who  has  done  so  ?  Have  none  before  or  after  him  staked 
all  their  treasure  of  life,  as  a  savage  does  his  land  and 
possessions  against  a  draught  of  the  fair-skins'  fire- 
water, or  a  couple  of  bauble  eyes? 

"  Does  your  mother  know  of  this,  Arthur?  "  said  Miss 
Fotheringay,  slowly.  He  seized  her  hand  madly  and 
kissed  it  a  thousand  times.  She  did  not  withdraw  it. 
"Does  the  old  lady  know  it?"  Miss  Costigan  thought 
to  herself  "  well,  perhaps  she  may,"  and  then  she  re- 
membered what  a  handsome  diamond  cross  Mrs.  Pen- 
dennis had  on  the  night  of  the  play,  and  thought,  "  sure 
'twill  go  in  the  family." 

"  Calm  yourself,  dear  Arthur,"  she  said,  in  her  low 
rich  voice,  and  smiled  sweetly  and  gravely  upon  him. 
Then  with  her  disengaged  hand,  she  put  the  hair  lightly 
off  his  throbbing  forehead.  He  was  in  such  a  rapture 
and  whirl  of  happiness  that  he  could  hardly  speak.  At 
last  he  gasped  out,  "  My  mother  has  seen  you  and  ad- 
mires you  beyond  measure.  She  will  learn  to  love  you 
soon:  who  can  do  otherwise?  She  will  love  you  because 
I  do." 

'  'Deed  then,  I  think  you  do,"  said  Miss  Costigan, 
perhaps  with  a  sort  of  pity  for  Pen. 

Think  she  did  I    Of  course  here  Mr.  Pen  went  off  into 


A  view  from  the  Dean's  Garden 


PENDENNIS  101 

a  rhapsody  which,  as  we  have  perfect  command  over  our 
own  feelings,  we  have  no  right  to  overhear.  Let  the 
poor  boy  fling  out  his  simple  heart  at  the  woman's  feet, 
and  deal  gently  with  him.  It  is  best  to  love  wisely,  no 
doubt :  but  to  love  foolishly  is  better  than  not  to  be  able 
to  love  at  all.  Some  of  us  can't :  and  are  proud  of  our 
impotence  too. 

At  the  end  of  his  speech,  Pen  again  kissed  the  impe- 
rial hand  with  rapture — and  I  believe  it  was  at  this  very 
moment,  and  while  Mrs.  Dean  and  Doctor  Portman 
were  engaged  in  conversation,  that  young  Master  Rid- 
ley Roset,  her  son,  pulled  his  mother  by  the  back  of  her 
capacious  dress  and  said — 

"  I  say,  ma!  look  up  there  " — and  he  waggled  his  in- 
nocent head. 

That  was,  indeed,  a  view  from  the  Dean's  garden  such 
as  seldom  is  seen  by  Deans — or  is  written  in  Chapters. 
There  was  poor  Pen  performing  a  salute  upon  the  rosy 
fingers  of  his  charmer,  who  received  the  embrace  with 
perfect  calmness  and  good-humour.  Master  Ridley 
looked  up  and  grinned,  little  Miss  Rosa  looked  at  her 
brother,  and  opened  the  mouth  of  astonishment.  Mrs. 
Dean's  countenance  defied  expression,  and  as  for  Dr. 
Portman,  when  he  beheld  the  scene,  and  saw  his  prime 
favourite  and  dear  pupil  Pen,  he  stood  mute  with  rage 
and  wonder. 

Mrs.  Haller  spied  the  party  below  at  the  same  mo- 
ment, and  gave  a  start  and  a  laugh.  "  Sure  there's  some- 
body in  the  Dean's  garden,"  she  cried  out;  and  with- 
drew with  perfect  calmness,  whilst  Pen  darted  away 
with  his  face  glowing  like  coals.  The  garden  party  had 
re-entered  the  house  when  he  ventured  to  look  out  again. 
The  sickle  moon  was  blazing  bright  in  the  heavens  then, 


102  PENDENNIS 

the  stars  were  glittering,  the  bell  of  the  cathedral  tolling 
nine,  the  Dean's  guests  (all  save  one,  who  had  called  for 
his  horse  Dumpling,  and  ridden  off  early)  were  par- 
taking of  tea  and  buttered  cakes  in  Mrs.  Dean's  draw- 
ing-room— when  Pen  took  leave  of  Miss  Costigan. 

Pen  arrived  at  home  in  due  time  afterwards,  and  was 
going  to  slip  off  to  bed,  for  the  poor  lad  was  greatly 
worn  and  agitated,  and  his  high-strung  nerves  had 
been  at  almost  a  maddening  pitch — when  a  summons 
came  to  him  by  John  the  old  footman,  whose  counte- 
nance bore  a  very  ominous  look,  that  his  mother  must  see 
him  below. 

On  this  he  tied  on  his  neck-cloth  again,  and  went  down 
stairs  to  the  drawing-room.  There  sate  not  only  his 
mother,  but  her  friend,  the  Reverend  Doctor  Portman. 
Helen's  face  looked  very  pale  by  the  light  of  the  lamp— 
the  Doctor's  was  flushed,  on  the  contrary,  and  quivering 
with  anger  and  emotion. 

Pen  saw  at  once  that  there  was  a  crisis,  and  that  there 
had  been  a  discovery.  "  Now  for  it,"  he  thought. 

'  Where  have  you  been,  Arthur?  "  Helen  said  in  a 
trembling  voice. 

"  How  can  you  look  that — that  dear  lady,  and  a  Chris- 
tian clergyman  in  the  face,  sir? "  bounced  out  the  Doc- 
tor, in  spite  of  Helen's  pale,  appealing  looks.  '  Where 
has  he  been?  Where  his  mother's  son  should  have  been 
ashamed  to  go.  For  your  mother's  an  angel,  sir,  an 
angel.  How  dare  you  bring  pollution  into  her  house, 
and  make  that  spotless  creature  wretched  with  the 
thoughts  of  your  crime?  " 

"Sir!"  said  Pen. 

"  Don't  deny  it,  sir,"  roared  the  Doctor.  "  Don't  add 
lies,  sir,  to  your  other  infamy.  I  saw  you  myself,  sir. 


PENDENNIS  103 

I  saw  you  from  the  Dean's  garden.    I  saw  you  kissing 
the  hand  of  that  infernal  painted  " 

"  Stop,"  Pen  said,  clapping  his  fist  on  the  table,  till 
the  lamp  flickered  up  and  shook,  "  I  am  a  very  young 
man,  but  you  will  please  to  remember  that  I  am  a  gentle- 
man—I  will  hear  no  abuse  of  that  lady." 

"  Lady,  sir,"  cried  the  Doctor,  "  that  a  lady — you— 
you— you  stand  in  your  mother's  presence  and  call  that 
—that  woman  a  lady!  " 

"  In  anybody's  presence,"  shouted  out  Pen.  "  She  is 
worthy  of  any  place.  She  is  as  pure  as  any  woman.  She 
is  as  good  as  she  is  beautiful.  If  any  man  but  you  in- 
sulted her,  I  would  tell  him  what  I  thought ;  but  as  you 
are  my  oldest  friend,  I  suppose  you  have  the  privilege 
to  doubt  of  my  honour." 

"  No,  no,  Pen,  dearest  Pen,"  cried  out  Helen  in  an 
excess  of  joy.  "  I  told,  I  told  you,  Doctor,  he  was  not— 
not  what  you  thought :  "  and  the  tender  creature  coming 
trembling  forward  flung  herself  on  Pen's  shoulder. 

Pen  felt  himself  a  man,  and  a  match  for  all  the  Doc- 
tors in  Doctordom.  He  was  glad  this  explanation  had 
come.  *  You  saw  how  beautiful  she  was,"  he  said  to 
his  mother,  with  a  soothing,  protecting  air,  like  Hamlet 
with  Gertrude  in  the  play.  "  I  tell  you,  dear  mother, 
she  is  as  good.  When  you  know  her  you  will  say  so. 
She  is  of  all,  except  you,  the  simplest,  the  kindest,  the 
most  affectionate  of  women.  Why  should  she  not  be 
on  the  stage? — She  maintains  her  father  by  her  labour." 

"  Drunken  old  reprobate,"  growled  the  Doctor,  but 
Pen  did  not  hear  or  heed. 

"  If  you  could  see,  as  I  have,  how  orderly  her  life  is, 
how  pure  and  pious  her  whole  conduct,  you  would — as 
I  do — yes,  as  I  do  " —  (with  a  savage  look  at  the  Doctor) 


104  PENDENNIS 

"  spurn  the  slanderer  who  dared  to  do  her  wrong. 
Her  father  was  an  officer,  and  distinguished  himself  in 
Spain.  He  was  a  friend  of  His  Royal  Highness  the 
Duke  of  Kent,  and  is  intimately  known  to  the  Duke  of 
Wellington,  and  some  of  the  first  officers  of  our  army. 
He  has  met  my  uncle  Arthur  at  Lord  Hill's,  he  thinks. 
His  own  family  is  one  of  the  most  ancient  and  respect- 
able in  Ireland,  and  indeed  is  as  good  as  our  own.  The 
—the  Costigans,  were  kings  of  Ireland." 

4  Why,  God  bless  my  soul,"  shrieked  out  the  Doctor, 
hardly  knowing  whether  to  burst  with  rage  or  laughter, 
"  you  don't  mean  to  say  you  want  to  marry  her?  " 

Pen  put  on  his  most  princely  air.  '  What  else,  Dr. 
Portman,"  he  said,  "  do  you  suppose  would  be  my  de- 
sire?" 

Utterly  foiled  in  his  attack,  and  knocked  down  by  this 
sudden  lunge  of  Pen's,  the  Doctor  could  only  gasp  out, 
"  Mrs.  Pendennis,  ma'am,  send  for  the  Major." 

"  Send  for  the  Major?  with  all  my  heart,"  said  Ar- 
thur, Prince  of  Pendennis  and  Grand  Duke  of  Fair- 
oaks,  with  a  most  superb  wave  of  the  hand.  And  the 
colloquy  terminated  by  the  writing  of  those  two  letters 
which  were  laid  on  Major  Pendennis's  breakfast-table, 
in  London,  at  the  commencement  of  Prince  Arthur's 
most  veracious  history. 


CHAPTER  VII 


IN   WHICH  THE  MAJOE   MAKES   HIS  APPEARANCE 

UR  acquaintance,  Major 
.  Arthur  Pendennis,  ar- 
rived in  due  time  at  Fair- 
oaks,  after  a  dreary  night 
passed  in  the  mail-coach, 
where  a  stout  fellow-pas- 
senger, swelling  preter- 
naturally  with  great- 
coats, had  crowded  him 
into  a  corner,  and  kept 
him  awake  by  snoring  indecently;  where  a  widow 
lady,  opposite,  had  not  only  shut  out  the  fresh 
air  by  closing  all  the  windows  of  the  vehicle,  but  had 
filled  the  interior  with  fumes  of  Jamaica  rum  and  water, 
which  she  sucked  perpetually  from  a  bottle  in  her  reti- 
cule; where,  whenever  he  caught  a  brief  moment  of 
sleep,  the  twanging  of  the  horn  at  the  turnpike  gates, 
or  the  scuffling  of  his  huge  neighbour  wedging  him 
closer  and  closer,  or  the  play  of  the  widow's  feet  on  his 
own  tender  toes,  speedily  woke  up  the  poor  gentleman 
to  the  horrors  and  realities  of  life— a  life  which  has 
passed  away  now,  and  become  impossible,  and  only  lives 
in  fond  memories.  Eight  miles  an  hour,  for  twenty  or 
five-and-twenty  hours,  a  tight  mail-coach,  a  hard  seat, 
a  gouty  tendency,  a  perpetual  change  of  coachmen 
grumbling  because  you  did  not  fee  them  enough,  a  fel- 

105 


106  PENDENNIS 

low-passenger  partial  to  spirits-and-water, — who  has 
not  borne  these  evils  in  the  jolly  old  times?  and  how 
could  people  travel  under  such  difficulties?  And  yet 
they  did.  Night  and  morning  passed,  and  the  Major, 
with  a  yellow  face,  a  bristly  beard,  a  wig  out  of  curl, 
and  strong  rheumatic  griefs  shooting  through  various 
limbs  of  his  uneasy  body,  descended  at  the  little  lodge- 
gate  at  Fairoaks,  where  the  porteress  and  gardener's 
wife  reverentially  greeted  him;  and,  still  more  respect- 
fully, Mr.  Morgan,  his  man. 

Helen  was  on  the  look-out  for  this  expected  guest, 
and  saw  him  from  her  window.  But  she  did  not  come 
forward  immediately  to  greet  him.  She  knew  the  Major 
did  not  like  to  be  seen  at  a  surprise,  and  required  a  little 
preparation  before  he  cared  to  be  visible.  Pen,  when  a 
boy,  had  incurred  sad  disgrace,  by  carrying  off  from  the 
Major's  dressing-table  a  little  morocco  box,  which  it 
must  be  confessed  contained  the  Major's  back  teeth, 
which  he  naturally  would  leave  out  of  his  jaws  in  a  jolt- 
ing mail-coach,  and  without  which  he  would  not  choose 
to  appear.  Morgan,  his  man,  made  a  mystery  of  mys- 
tery of  his  wigs :  curling  them  in  private  places :  intro- 
ducing them  privily  to  his  master's  room; — nor  without 
his  head  of  hair  would  the  Major  care  to  show  himself  to 
any  member  of  his  family,  or  any  acquaintance.  He 
went  to  his  apartment  then  and  supplied  these  deficien- 
cies; he  groaned,  and  moaned,  and  wheezed,  and  cursed 
Morgan  through  his  toilet,  as  an  old  buck  will,  who  has 
been  up  all  night  with  a  rheumatism,  and  has  a  long  duty 
to  perform.  And  finally  being  belted,  curled,  and  set 
straight,  he  descended  upon  the  drawing-room,  with  a 
grave  majestic  air,  such  as  befitted  one  who  was  at  once 
a  man  of  business  and  a  man  of  fashion. 


PENDENNIS  107 

Pen  was  not  there,  however;  only  Helen,  and  little 
Laura  sewing  at  her  knees;  and  to  whom  he  never  pre- 
sented more  than  a  forefinger,  as  he  did  on  this  occasion 
after  saluting  his  sister-in-law.  Laura  took  the  finger 
trembling  and  dropped  it— and  then  fled  out  of  the 
room.  Major  Pendennis  did  not  want  to  keep  her,  or 
indeed  to  have  her  in  the  house  at  all,  and  had  his  private 
reason  for  disapproving  of  her;  which  we  may  mention 
on  some  future  occasion.  Meanwhile  Laura  disap- 
peared, and  wandered  about  the  premises  seeking  for 
Pen:  whom  she  presently  found  in  the  orchard,  pacing 
up  and  down  a  walk  there  in  earnest  conversation  with 
Mr.  Smirke.  He  was  so  occupied  that  he  did  not  hear 
Laura's  clear  voice  singing  out,  until  Smirke  pulled  him 
by  the  coat,  and  pointed  towards  her  as  she  came  run- 
ning. 

She  ran  up  and  put  her  hand  into  his.  "  Come  in, 
Pen,"  she  said,  "  there's  somebody  come ;  uncle  Arthur's 
come." 

"  He  is,  is  he? "  said  Pen,  and  she  felt  him  grasp  her 
little  hand.  He  looked  round  at  Smirke  with  uncommon 
fierceness,  as  much  as  to  say,  I  am  ready  for  him  or  any 
man — Mr.  Smirke  cast  up  his  eyes  as  usual,  and  heaved 
a  gentle  sigh. 

"  Lead  on,  Laura,"  Pen  said,  with  a  half  fierce,  half 
comic  air—  "  Lead  on,  and  say  I  wait  upon  my  uncle." 
But  he  was  laughing  in  order  to  hide  a  great  anxiety: 
and  was.screwing  his  courage  inwardly  to  face  the  ordeal 
which  he  knew  was  now  before  him. 

Pen  had  taken  Smirke  into  his  confidence  in  the  last 
two  days,  and  after  the  outbreak  attendant  on  the  dis- 
covery of  Doctor  Portman,  and  during  every  one  of 
those  forty-eight  hours  which  he  had  passed  in  Mr. 


108  PENDENNIS 

Smirke's  society,  had  done  nothing  but  talk  to  his  tutor 
about  Miss  Fotheringay— Miss  Emily  Fotheringay— 
Emily,  &c.,  to  all  which  talk  Smirke  listened  without 
difficulty,  for  he  was  in  love  himself,  most  anxious  in 
all  things  to  propitiate  Pen,  and  indeed  very  much  him- 
self enraptured  by  the  personal  charms  of  this  goddess, 
whose  like,  never  having  been  before  at  a  theatrical 
representation,  he  had  not  beheld  until  now.  Pen's  fire 
and  volubility,  his  hot  eloquence  and  rich  poetical  tropes 
and  figures,  his  manly  heart,  kind,  ardent,  and  hopeful, 
refusing  to  see  any  defects  in  the  person  he  loved,  any 
difficulties  in  their  position  that  he  might  not  overcome, 
had  half  convinced  Mr.  Smirke  that  the  arrangement 
proposed  by  Mr.  Pen  was  a  very  feasible  and  prudent 
one,  and  that  it  would  be  a  great  comfort  to  have  Emily 
settled  at  Fairoaks,  Captain  Costigan  in  the  yellow 
room,  established  for  life  there,  and  Pen  married  at 
eighteen. 

And  it  is  a  fact  that  in  these  two  days,  the  boy  had 
almost  talked  over  his  mother  too;  had  parried  all  her 
objections  one  after  another  with  that  indignant  good 
sense  which  is  often  the  perfection  of  absurdity;  and 
had  brought  her  almost  to  acquiesce  in  the  belief  that  if 
the  marriage  was  doomed  in  heaven,  why,  doomed  it  was 
—that  if  the  young  woman  was  a  good  person,  it  was 
all  that  she  for  her  part  had  to  ask ;  and  rather  to  dread 
the  arrival  of  the  guardian  uncle  who  she  foresaw  would 
regard  Mr.  Pen's  marriage  in  a  manner  very  different 
to  that  simple,  romantic,  honest,  and  utterly  absurd  way 
in  which  the  widow  was  already  disposed  to  look  at  ques- 
tions of  this  sort.  Helen  Pendennis  was  a  country-bred 
woman,  and  the  book  of  life,  as  she  interpreted  it,  told 
her  a  different  story  to  that  page  which  is  read  in  cities. 


PENDENNIS  109 

It  pleased  her  (with  that  dismal  pleasure  which  the  idea 
of  sacrificing  themselves  gives  to  certain  women)  to 
think  of  the  day  when  she  would  give  up  all  to  Pen,  and 
he  should  bring  his  wife  home,  and  she  would  surrender 
the  keys  and  the  best  bed-room,  and  go  and  sit  at  the 
side  of  the  table,  and  see  him  happy.  What  did  she  want 
in  life,  but  to  see  the  lad  prosper?  As  an  empress  was 
certainly  not  too  good  for  him,  and  would  be  honoured 
by  becoming  Mrs.  Pen;  so  if  he  selected  humble  Esther 
instead  of  Queen  Vashti,  she  would  be  content  with  his 
lordship's  choice.  Never  mind  how  lowly  or  poor  the 
person  might  be  who  was  to  enjoy  that  prodigious  hon- 
our, Mrs.  Pendennis  was  willing  to  bow  before  her  and 
welcome  her,  and  yield  her  up  the  first  place.  But  an 
actress — a  mature  woman,  who  had  long  ceased  blushing 
except  with  rouge,  as  she  stood  under  the  eager  glances 
of  thousands  of  eyes — an  illiterate  and  ill-bred  person, 
very  likely,  who  must  have  lived  with  light  associates, 
and  have  heard  doubtful  conversation — Oh!  it  was  hard 
that  such  a  one  should  be  chosen,  and  that  the  matron 
should  be  deposed  to  give  place  to  such  a  Sultana. 

All  these  doubts  the  widow  laid  before  Pen  during  the 
two  days  which  had  of  necessity  to  elapse  ere  the  uncle 
came  down ;  but  he  met  them  with  that  happy  frankness 
and  ease  which  a  young  gentleman  exhibits  at  his  time 
of  life,  and  routed  his  mother's  objections  with  infinite 
satisfaction  to  himself.  Miss  Costigan  was  a  paragon 
of  virtue  and  delicacy !  she  was  as  sensitive  as  the  most 
timid  maiden;  she  was  as  pure  as  the  unsullied  snow; 
she  had  the  finest  manners,  the  most  graceful  wit  and 
genius,  the  most  charming  refinement,  and  justness  of 
appreciation  in  all  matters  of  taste;  she  had  the  most 
admirable  temper  and  devotion-  to  her  father,  a  good 


110  PENDENNIS 

old  gentleman  of  high  family  and  fallen  fortunes,  who 
had  lived,  however,  with  the  best  society  in  Europe:  he 
was  in  no  hurry,  and  could  afford  to  wait  any  time— till 
he  was  one-and-twenty.  But  he  felt  ( and  here  his  face 
assumed  an  awful  and  harrowing  solemnity)  that  he 
was  engaged  in  the  one  only  passion  of  his  life,  and  that 
DEATH  alone  could  close  it. 

Helen  told  him,  with  a  sad  smile  and  a  shake  of  the 
head,  that  people  survived  these  passions,  and  as  for 
long  engagements  contracted  between  very  young  men 
and  old  women — she  knew  an  instance  in  her  own  family 
-Laura's  poor  father  was  an  instance— how  fatal  they 
were. 

Mr.  Pen,  however,  was  resolved  that  death  must  be 
his  doom  in  case  of  disappointment,  and  rather  than  this 
—rather  than  baulk  him  in  fact— this  lady  would  have 
submitted  to  any  sacrifice  or  personal  pain,  and  would 
have  gone  down  on  her  knees  and  have  kissed  the  feet 
of  a  Hottentot  daughter-in-law. 

Arthur  knew  his  power  over  the  widow,  and  the  young 
tyrant  was  touched  whilst  he  exercised  it.  In  those  two 
days  he  brought  her  almost  into  submission,  and  patro- 
nised her  very  kindly;  and  he  passed  one  evening  with 
the  lovely  pie-maker  at  Chatteris,  in  which  he  bragged 
of  his  influence  over  his  mother ;  and  he  spent  the  other 
night  in  composing  a  most  flaming  and  conceited  copy 
of  verses  to  his  divinity,  in  which  he  vowed,  like  Mont- 
rose,  that  he  would  make  her  famous  with  his  sword  and 
glorious  by  his  pen,  and  that  he  would  love  her  as  no 
mortal  woman  had  been  adored  since  the  creation  of 
womankind. 

It  was  on  that  night,  long  after  midnight,  that  wake- 
ful Helen,  passing  stealthily  by  her  son's  door,  saw  a 


Poor  Pen 


PENDENNIS  111 

light  streaming  through  the  chink  of  the  door  into  the 
dark  passage,  and  heard  Pen  tossing  and  tumbling  and 
mumbling  verses  in  his  bed.  She  waited  outside  for  a 
while,  anxiously  listening  to  him.  In  infantile  fevers 
and  early  boyish  illnesses,  many  a  night  before,  the  kind 
soul  had  so  kept  watch.  She  turned  the  lock  very  softly 
now,  and  went  in  so  gently,  that  Pen  for  a  moment  did 
not  see  her.  His  face  was  turned  from  her.  His  papers 
on  his  desk  were  scattered  about,  and  more  were  lying 
on  the  bed  round  him.  He  was  biting  a  pencil  and  think- 
ing of  rhymes  and  all  sorts  of  follies  and  passions.  He 
was  Hamlet  jumping  into  Ophelia's  grave:  he  was  the 
Stranger  taking  Mrs.  Haller  to  his  arms,  beautiful  Mrs. 
Haller,  with  the  raven  ringlets  falling  over  her  shoul- 
ders. Despair  and  Byron,  Thomas  Moore  and  all  the 
Loves  of  the  Angels,  Waller  and  Herrick,  Beranger  and 
all  the  love-songs  he  had  ever  read,  were  working  and 
seething  in  this  young  gentleman's  mind,  and  he  was 
at  the  very  height  and  paroxysm  of  the  imaginative 
phrensy,  when  his  mother  found  him. 

"  Arthur,"  said  the  mother's  soft  silver  voice:  and  he 
started  up  and  turned  round.  He  clutched  some  of  the 
papers  and  pushed  them  under  the  pillow. 

'  Why  don't  you  go  to  sleep,  my  dear?  "  she  said,  with 
a  sweet  tender  smile,  and  sate  down  on  the  bed  and  took 
one  of  his  hot  hands. 

Pen  looked  at  her  wildly  for  an  instant—  !<  I  couldn't 
sleep,"  he  said—  "  I — I  was — I  was  writing." — And 
hereupon  he  flung  his  arms  round  her  neck  and  said, 
"  O  mother!  I  love  her,  I  love  her! "  -How  could  such 
a  kind  soul  as  that  help  soothing  and  pitying  him?  The 
gentle  creature  did  her  best :  and  thought  with  a  strange 
wonderment  and  tenderness,  that  it  was  only  yesterday 


112  PENDENNIS 

that  he  was  a  child  in  that  bed:  and  how  she  used  to 
come  and  say  her  prayers  over  it  before  he  woke  upon 
holiday  mornings. 

They  were  very  grand  verses,  no  doubt,  although 
Miss  Fotheringay  did  not  understand  them;  but  old 
Cos,  with  a  wink  and  a  knowing  finger  on  his  nose,  said, 
"  Put  them  up  with  th'  hother  letthers,  Milly  darling. 
Poldoody's  pomes  was  nothing  to  this."  So  Milly  locked 
up  the  manuscripts. 

When  then,  the  Major  being  dressed  and  presentable, 
presented  himself  to  Mrs.  Pendennis,  he  found  in  the 
course  of  ten  minutes'  colloquy  that  the  poor  widow  was 
not  merely  distressed  at  the  idea  of  the  marriage  con- 
templated by  Pen,  but  actually  more  distressed  at  think- 
ing that  the  boy  himself  was  unhappy  about  it,  and  that 
his  uncle  and  he  should  have  any  violent  altercation  on 
the  subject.  She  besought  Major  Pendennis  to  be  very 
gentle  with  Arthur:  "  He  has  a  very  high  spirit,  and 
will  not  brook  unkind  words,"  she  hinted.  "  Doctor 
Portman  spoke  to  him  rather  roughly — and  I  must  own 
unjustly,  the  other  night — for  my  dearest  boy's  honour 
is  as  high  as  any  mother  can  desire — but  Pen's  answer 
quite  frightened  me,  it  was  so  indignant.  Recollect  he 
is  a  man  now;  and  be  very— very  cautious,"  said  the 
widow,  laying  a  fair  long  hand  on  the  Major's  sleeve. 

He  took  it  up,  kissed  it  gallantly,  and  looked  in  her 
alarmed  face  with  wonder,  and  a  scorn  which  he  was  too 
polite  to  show.  "  Bon  Dieu! "  thought  the  old  negotia- 
tor, "  the  boy  has  actually  talked  the  woman  round,  and 
she'd  get  him  a  wife  as  she  would  a  toy  if  Master  cried 
for  it.  Why  are  there  no  such  things  as  lettres-de-cachet 
—and  a  Bastille  for  young  fellows  of  family? "  The 
Major  lived  in  such  good  company  that  he  might  be 


PENDENNIS  113 

excused  for  feeling  like  an  Earl. — He  kissed  the  widow's 
timid  hand,  pressed  it  in  both  his,  and  laid  it  down  on 
the  table  with  one  of  his  own  over  it,  as  he  smiled  and 
looked  her  in  the  face. 

"  Confess,"  said  he,  "  now,  that  you  are  thinking  how 
you  possibly  can  make  it  up  to  your  conscience  to  let 
the  boy  have  his  own  way." 

She  blushed,  and  was  moved  in  the  usual  manner  of 
females.  "  I  am  thinking  that  he  is  very  unhappy— and 
I  am  too  " — 

1  To  contradict  him  or  to  let  him  have  his  own  wish?  " 
asked  the  other;  and  added,  with  great  comfort  to  his 
inward  self,  "  I'm  d — d  if  he  shall." 

"  To  think  that  he  should  have  formed  so  foolish  and 
cruel  and  fatal  an  attachment,"  the  widow  said,  "  which 
can  but  end  in  pain  whatever  be  the  issue." 

"  The  issue  shan't  be  marriage,  my  dear  sister,"  the 
Major  said  resolutely.  '  We're  not  going  to  have  a 
Pendennis,  the  head  of  the  house,  marry  a  strolling 
mountebank  from  a  booth.  No,  no,  we  won't  marry 
into  Greenwich  Fair,  ma'am." 

"  If  the  match  is  broken  suddenly  off,"  the  widow 
interposed,  "  I  don't  know  what  may  be  the  consequence. 
I  know  Arthur's  ardent  temper,  the  intensity  of  his  af- 
fections, the  agony  of  his  pleasures  and  disappointments, 
and  I  tremble  at  this  one  if  it  must  be.  Indeed,  indeed, 
it  must  not  come  on  him  too  suddenly." 

"  My  dear  madam,"  the  Major  said,  with  an  air  of 
the  deepest  commiseration,  "  I've  no  doubt  Arthur  will 
have  to  suffer  confoundedly  before  he  gets  over  the  little 
disappointment.  But  is  he,  think  you,  the  only  person 
who  has  been  so  rendered  miserable?  " 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  Helen,  holding  down  her  eyes. 


114  PENDENNIS 

She  was  thinking  of  her  own  case,  and  was  at  that  mo- 
ment seventeen  again,  and  most  miserable. 

"  I,  myself,"  whispered  her  brother-in-law,  "  have 
undergone  a  disappointment  in  early  life.  A  young 
woman  with  fifteen  thousand  pounds,  niece  to  an  Earl 
— most  accomplished  creature— a  third  of  her  money 
would  have  run  up  my  promotion  in  no  time,  and  I 
should  have  been  a  lieutenant-colonel  at  thirty:  but  it 
might  not  be.  I  was  but  a  penniless  lieutenant:  her 
parents  interfered:  and  I  embarked  for  India,  where 
I  had  the  honour  of  being  secretary  to  Lord  Buckley, 
when  Commander-in-Chief — without  her.  What  hap- 
pened? We  returned  our  letters,  sent  back  our  locks  of 
hair  (the  Major  here  passed  his  fingers  through  his 
wig),  we  suffered— but  we  recovered.  She  is  now  a 
baronet's  wife  with  thirteen  grown-up  children ;  altered, 
it  is  true,  in  person;  but  her  daughters  remind  me  of 
what  she  was,  and  the  third  is  to  be  presented  early  next 
week." 

Helen  did  not  answer.  She  was  still  thinking  of  old 
times.  I  suppose  if  one  lives  to  be  a  hundred,  there  are 
certain  passages  of  one's  early  life  whereof  the  recol- 
lection will  always  carry  us  back  to  youth  again,  and  that 
Helen  was  thinking  of  one  of  these. 

"  Look  at  my  own  brother,  my  dear  creature,"  the 
Major  continued  gallantly:  "he  himself,  you  know, 
had  a  little  disappointment  when  he  started  in  the— the 
medical  profession — an  eligible  opportunity  presented 
itself.  Miss  Balls,  I  remember  the  name,  was  daughter 
of  an  apoth— a  practitioner  in  very  large  practice;  my 
brother  had  very  nearly  succeeded  in  his  suit. — But  dif- 
ficulties arose:  disappointments  supervened,  and— and 
I  am  sure  he  had  no  reason  to  regret  the  disappointment 


PENDENNIS  115 

which  gave  him  this  hand,"  said  the  Major,  and  he  once 
more  politely  pressed  Helen's  fingers. 

'  Those  marriages  between  people  of  such  different 
rank  and  age,"  said  Helen,  "  are  sad  things.  I  have 
known  them  produce  a  great  deal  of  unhappiness. — 
Laura's  father,  my  cousin,  who — who  was  brought  up 
with  me  "  —she  added,  in  a  low  voice,  "  was  an  instance 
of  that." 

"  Most  injudicious,"  cut  in  the  Major.  "  I  don't 
know  anything  more  painful  than  for  a  man  to  marry 
his  superior  in  age  or  his  inferior  in  station.  Fancy 
marrying  a  woman  of  a  low  rank  of  life,  and  having 
your  house  filled  with  her  confounded  tag-rag-and-bob- 
tail  relations!  Fancy  your  wife  attached  to  a  mother 
who  dropped  her  h's,  or  called  Maria  Marire !  How  are 
you  to  introduce  her  into  society?  My  dear  Mrs.  Pen- 
dennis,  I  will  name  no  names,  but  in  the  very  best  circles 
of  London  society  I  have  seen  men  suffering  the  most 
excruciating  agony,  I  have  known  them  to  be  cut,  to  be 
lost  utterly,  from  the  vulgarity  of  their  wives'  connec- 
tions. What  did  Lady  Snapperton  do  last  year  at  her 
dejeuner  dansant  after  the  Bohemian  Ball?  She  told 
Lord  Brouncker  that  he  might  bring  his  daughters  or 
send  them  with  a  proper  chaperon,  but  that  she  would 
not  receive  Lady  Brouncker:  who  was  a  druggist's 
daughter,  or  some  such  thing,  and  as  Tom  Wagg  re- 
marked of  her,  never  wanted  medicine  certainly,  for  she 
never  had  an  h  in  her  life.  Good  Ged,  what  would  have 
been  the  trifling  pang  of  a  separation  in  the  first  in- 
stance to  the  enduring  infliction  of  a  constant  misalli- 
ance and  intercourse  with  low  people?  " 

"  What,  indeed!  "  said  Helen,  dimly  disposed  towards 
laughter,  but  yet  checking  the  inclination,  because  she 


116  PENDENNIS 

remembered  in  what  prodigious  respect  her  deceased 
husband  held  Major  Pendennis  and  his  stories  of  the 
great  world. 

*  Then  this  fatal  woman  is  ten  years  older  than  that 
silly  young  scapegrace  of  an  Arthur.  What  happens 
in  such  cases,  my  dear  creature?  I  don't  mind  telling 
you  now  we  are  alone:  that  in  the  highest  state  of  soci- 
ety, misery,  undeviating  misery,  is  the  result.  Look  at 
Lord  Clodworthy  come  into  a  room  with  his  wife — why, 
good  Ged,  she  looks  like  Clodworthy's  mother.  What's 
the  case  between  Lord  and  Lady  Willowbank,  whose 
love  match  was  notorious?  He  has  already  cut  her  down 
twice  when  she  has  hanged  herself  out  of  jealousy  for 
Mademoiselle  de  Sainte  Cunegonde,  the  dancer;  and 
mark  my  words,  good  Ged,  one  day  he'll  not  cut  the  old 
woman  down.  No,  my  dear  madam,  you  are  not  in  the 
world,  but  I  am:  you  are  a  little  romantic  and  senti- 
mental (you  know  you  are— women  with  those  large 
beautiful  eyes  always  are)  ;  you  must  leave  this  matter 
to  my  experience.  Marry  this  woman!  Marry  at  eigh- 
teen an  actress  of  thirty — bah  bah!— I  would  as  soon  he 
sent  into  the  kitchen  and  married  the  cook." 

"  I  know  the  evils  of  premature  engagements,"  sighed 
out  Helen:  and  as  she  has  made  this  allusion  no  less 
than  thrice  in  the  course  of  the  above  conversation,  and 
seems  to  be  so  oppressed  with  the  notion  of  long  engage- 
ments and  unequal  marriages,  and  as  the  circumstance 
we  have  to  relate  will  explain  what  perhaps  some  per- 
sons are  anxious  to  know,  namely,  who  little  Laura  is, 
who  has  appeared  more  than  once  before  us,  it  will  be 
as  well  to  clear  up  these  points  in  another  chapter. 


CHAPTER  VIII 


IN  WHICH  PEN  IS  KEPT  WAITING  AT  THE  DOOR,  WHILE 
THE  READER  IS  INFORMED  WHO  LITTLE  LAURA  WAS 

NCE  upon  a  time,  then, 
there  was  a  young  gen- 
tleman of  Cambridge 
University  who 
came  to  pass  the 
long  vacation  at 
the  village  where 
young  Helen 
Thistlewood  was 
living  with  her 
mother,  the  widow 
of  the  lieutenant 
slain  at  Copenha- 
gen. This  gentle- 
man, whose  name 
was  the  Reverend 
Francis  Bell,  was 
nephew  to  Mrs.  Thistlewood,  and  by  consequence,  own 
cousin  to  Miss  Helen,  so  that  it  was  very  right  that  he 
should  take  lodgings  in  his  aunt's  house,  who  lived  in  a 
very  small  way;  and  there  he  passed  the  long  vacation, 
reading  with  three  or  four  pupils  who  accompanied  him 
to  the  village.  Mr.  Bell  was  fellow  of  a  college,  and 
famous  in  the  University  for  his  learning  and  skill  as  a 
tutor. 

His  two  kinswomen  understood  pretty  early  that  the 

117 


118  PENDENNIS 

reverend  gentleman  was  engaged  to  be  married,  and  was 
only  waiting  for  a  college  living  to  enable  him  to  fulfil 
his  engagement.  His  intended  bride  was  the  daughter 
of  another  parson,  who  had  acted  as  Mr.  Bell's  own  pri- 
vate tutor  in  Bell's  early  life,  and  it  was  whilst  under 
Mr.  Coacher's  roof,  indeed,  and  when  only  a  boy  of  sev- 
enteen or  eighteen  years  of  age,  that  the  impetuous 
young  Bell  had  flung  himself  at  the  feet  of  Miss  Martha 
Coacher,  whom  he  was  helping  to  pick  peas  in  the  gar- 
den. On  his  knees,  before  those  peas  and  her,  he  pledged 
himself  to  an  endless  affection. 

Miss  Coacher  was  by  many  years  the  young  fellow's 
senior:  and  her  own  heart  had  been  lacerated  by  many 
previous  disappointments  in  the  matrimonial  line.  No 
less  than  three  pupils  of  her  father  had  trifled  with  those 
young  affections.  The  apothecary  of  the  village  had 
despicably  jilted  her.  The  dragoon  officer,  with  whom 
she  had  danced  so  many  many  times  during  that  happy 
season  which  she  passed  at  Bath  with  her  gouty  grand- 
mamma, one  day  gaily  shook  his  bridle-rein  and  galloped 
away,  never  to  return.  Wounded  by  the  shafts  of  re- 
peated ingratitude,  can  it  be  wondered  at  that  the  heart 
of  Martha  Coacher  should  pant  to  find  rest  somewhere? 
She  listened  to  the  proposals  of  the  gawky  gallant  honest 
boy,  with  great  kindness  and  good-humour ;  at  the  end  of 
his  speech  she  said,  "  Law,  Bell,  I'm  sure  you  are  too 
young  to  think  of  such  things ;  "  but  intimated  that  she 
too  would  revolve  them  in  her  own  virgin  bosom.  She 
could  not  refer  Mr.  Bell  to  her  mamma,  for  Mr. 
Coacher  was  a  widower,  and  being  immersed  in  his 
books,  was  of  course  unable  to  take  the  direction  of  so 
frail  and  wondrous  an  article  as  a  lady's  heart,  which 
Miss  Martha  had  to  manage  for  herself. 


PENDENNIS  119 

A  lock  of  her  hair  tied  up  in  a  piece  of  blue  ribbon, 
conveyed  to  the  happy  Bell  the  result  of  the  Vestal's 
conference  with  herself.  Thrice  before  had  she  snipt  off 
one  of  her  auburn  ringlets,  and  given  them  away.  The 
possessors  were  faithless,  but  the  hair  had  grown  again: 
and  Martha  had  indeed  occasion  to  say  that  men  were  de- 
ceivers, when  she  handed  over  this  token  of  love  to  the 
simple  boy. 

Number  6,  however,  was  an  exception  to  former  pas- 
sions— Francis  Bell  was  the  most  faithful  of  lovers. 
When  his  time  arrived  to  go  to  college,  and  it  became 
necessary  to  acquaint  Mr.  Coacher  of  the  arrangements 
that  had  been  made,  the  latter  cried,  "  God  bless  my  soul, 
I  hadn't  the  least  idea  what  was  going  on ; "  as  was  in- 
deed very  likely,  for  he  had  been  taken  in  three  times 
before  in  precisely  a  similar  manner;  and  Francis  went 
to  the  University  resolved  to  conquer  honours,  so  as  to 
be  able  to  lay  them  at  the  feet  of  his  beloved  Martha. 

This  prize  in  view  made  him  labour  prodigiously. 
News  came,  term  after  term,  of  the  honours  he  won.  He 
sent  the  prize-books  for  his  college  essays  to  old  Coacher, 
and  his  silver  declamation  cup  to  Miss  Martha.  In  due 
season  he  was  high  among  the  Wranglers,  and  a  Fellow 
of  his  College ;  and  during  all  the  time  of  these  transac- 
tions a  constant  tender  correspondence  was  kept  up  with 
Miss  Coacher,  to  whose  influence,  and  perhaps  with  jus- 
tice, he  attributed  the  successes  which  he  had  won. 

By  the  time,  however,  when  the  Rev.  Francis  Bell, 
M.A.,  and  Fellow  and  Tutor  of  his  College,  was  twenty- 
six  years  of  age,  it  happened  that  Miss  Coacher  was 
thirty-four,  nor  had  her  charms,  her  manners,  or  her 
temper  improved  since  that  sunny  day  in  the  spring- 
time of  life  when  he  found  her  picking  peas  in  the 


120  PENDENNIS 

garden.  Having  achieved  his  honours,  he  relaxed  in  the 
ardour  of  his  studies,  and  his  judgment  and  tastes  also 
perhaps  became  cooler.  The  sunshine  of  the  pea- 
garden  faded  away  from  Miss  Martha,  and  poor  Bell 
found  himself  engaged — and  his  hand  pledged  to  that 
bond  in  a  thousand  letters — to  a  coarse,  ill-tempered,  ill- 
favoured,  ill-mannered,  middle-aged  woman. 

It  was  in  consequence  of  one  of  many  altercations  ( in 
which  Martha's  eloquence  shone,  and  in  which  therefore 
she  was  frequently  pleased  to  indulge ) ,  that  Francis  re- 
fused to  take  his  pupils  to  Bearleader's  Green,  where 
Mr.  Coacher's  living  was,  and  where  Bell  was  in  the 
habit  of  spending  the  summer:  and  he  bethought  him 
that  he  would  pass  the  vacation  at  his  aunt's  village, 
which  he  had  not  seen  for  many  years — not  since  little 
Helen  was  a  girl,  and  used  to  sit  on  his  knee.  Down 
then  he  came  and  lived  with  them.  Helen  was  grown  a 
beautiful  young  woman  now.  The  cousins  were  nearly 
four  months  together,  from  June  to  October.  They 
walked  in  the  summer  evenings:  they  met  in  the  early 
morn.  They  read  out  of  the  same  book  when  the  old 
lady  dozed  at  night  over  the  candles.  What  little  Helen 
knew,  Frank  taught  her.  She  sang  to  him :  she  gave  her 
artless  heart  to  him.  She  was  aware  of  all  his  story. 
Had  he  made  any  secret?— had  he  not  shown  the  picture 
of  the  woman  to  whom  he  was  engaged,  and  with  a 
blush, — her  letters,  hard,  eager,  and  cruel?— The  days 
went  on  and  on,  happier  and  closer,  with  more  kindness, 
more  confidence,  and  more  pity.  At  last  one  morning 
in  October  came  when  Francis  went  back  to  college,  and 
the  poor  girl  felt  that  her  tender  heart  was  gone  with 
him. 

Frank  too  wakened  up  from  the  delightful  midsum- 


PENDENNIS  121 

mer-dream  to  the  horrible  reality  of  his  own  pain.  He 
gnashed  and  tore  at  the  chain  which  bound  him.  He  was 
frantic  to  break  it  and  be  free.  Should  he  confess? — 
give  his  savings  to  the  woman  to  whom  he  was  bound, 
and  beg  his  release? — there  was  time  yet— he  tempo- 
rised. No  living  might  fall  in  for  years  to  come.  The 
cousins  went  on  corresponding  sadly  and  fondly:  the 
betrothed  woman,  hard,  jealous,  and  dissatisfied,  com- 
plaining bitterly,  and  with  reason,  of  her  Francis's 
altered  tone. 

At  last  things  came  to  a  crisis,  and  the  new  attach- 
ment was  discovered.  Francis  owned  it,  cared  not  to 
disguise  it,  rebuked  Martha  with  her  violent  temper  and 
angry  imperiousness,  and,  worst  of  all,  with  her  infe- 
riority and  her  age. 

Her  reply  was,  that  if  he  did  not  keep  his  promise  she 
would  carry  his  letters  into  every  court  in  the  kingdom- 
letters  in  which  his  love  was  pledged  to  her  ten  thousand 
times;  and,  after  exposing  him  to  the  world  as  the  per- 
jurer and  traitor  he  was,  she  would  kill  herself. 

Frank  had  one  more  interview  with  Helen,  whose 
mother  was  dead  then,  and  who  was  living  companion 
with  old  Lady  Pontypool, — one  more  interview,  where 
it  was  resolved  that  he  was  to  do  his  duty ;  that  is,  to  re- 
deem his  vow;  that  is,  to  pay  a  debt  cozened  from  him 
by  a  sharper;  that  is,  to  make  two  honest  people  miser- 
able. So  the  two  judged  their  duty  to  be,  and  they 
parted. 

The  living  fell  in  only  too  soon;  but  yet  Frank  Bell 
was  quite  a  grey  and  worn-out  man  when  he  was  in- 
ducted into  it.  Helen  wrote  him  a  letter  on  his  mar- 
riage, beginning,  "  My  dear  Cousin,"  and  ending  "  al- 
ways truly  yours."  She  sent  him  back  the  other  letters, 


122  PENDENNIS 

and  the  lock  of  his  hair— all  but  a  small  piece.  She  had 
it  in  her  desk  when  she  was  talking  to  the  Major. 

Bell  lived  for  three  or  four  years  in  his  living,  at  the 
end  of  which  time,  the  Chaplainship  of  Coventry  Island 
falling  vacant,  Frank  applied  for  it  privately,  and  hav- 
ing procured  it,  announced  the  appointment  to  his 
wife.  She  objected,  as  she  did  to  everything.  He  told 
her  bitterly  that  he  did  not  want  her  to  come:  so  she 
went.  Bell  went  out  in  Governor  Crawley's  time,  and 
was  very  intimate  with  that  gentleman  in  his  later 
years.  And  it  was  in  Coventry  Island,  years  after 
his  own  marriage,  and  five  years  after  he  had  heard  of 
the  birth  of  Helen's  boy,  that  his  own  daughter  was 
born. 

She  was  not  the  daughter  of  the  first  Mrs.  Bell,  who 
died  of  island  fever  very  soon  after  Helen  Pendennis 
and  her  husband,  to  whom  Helen  had  told  everything, 
wrote  to  inform  Bell  of  the  birth  of  their  child.  "  I  was 
old,  was  I? "  said  Mrs.  Bell  the  first;  "  I  was  old,  and 
her  inferior,  was  I?  but  I  married  you,  Mr.  Bell,  and 
kept  you  from  marrying  her!"  and  hereupon  she  died. 
Bell  married  a  colonial  lady,  whom  he  loved  fondly. 
But  he  was  not  doomed  tc  prosper  in  love ;  and,  this  lady 
dying  in  child-birth,  Bell  gave  up  too :  sending  his  little 
girl  home  to  Helen  Pendennis  and  her  husband,  with  a 
parting  prayer  that  they  would  befriend  her. 

The  little  thing  came  to  Fairoaks  from  Bristol,  which 
is  not  very  far  off,  dressed  in  black,  and  in  company  of 
a  soldier's  wife,  her  nurse,  at  parting  from  whom  she 
wept  bitterly.  But  she  soon  dried  up  her  grief  under 
Helen's  motherly  care. 

Round  her  neck  she  had  a  locket  with  hair,  which 
Helen  had  given,  ah  how  many  years  ago !  to  poor  Fran- 


PENDENNIS  123 

cis,  dead  and  buried.  This  child  was  all  that  was  left  of 
him,  and  she  cherished,  as  so  tender  a  creature  would,  the 
legacy  which  he  had  bequeathed  to  her.  The  girl's  name, 
as  his  dying  letter  stated,  was  Helen  Laura.  But  John 
Pendennis,  though  he  accepted  the  trust,  was  always 
rather  jealous  of  the  orphan;  and  gloomily  ordered  that 
she  should  be  called  by  her  own  mother's  name ;  and  not 
by  that  first  one  which  her  father  had  given  her.  She 
was  afraid  of  Mr.  Pendennis,  to  the  last  moment  of  his 
life.  And  it  was  only  when  her  husband  was  gone  that 
Helen  dared  openly  to  indulge  in  the  tenderness  which 
she  felt  for  the  little  girl. 

Thus  it  was  that  Laura  Bell  became  Mrs.  Pendennis's 
daughter.  Neither  her  husband  nor  that  gentleman's 
brother,  the  Major,  viewed  her  with  very  favourable 
eyes.  She  reminded  the  first  of  circumstances  in  his 
wife's  life  which  he  was  forced  to  accept,  but  would  have 
forgotten  much  more  willingly:  and  as  for  the  second, 
how  could  he  regard  her?  She  was  neither  related  to  his 
own  family  of  Pendennis,  nor  to  any  nobleman  in  this 
empire,  and  she  had  but  a  couple  of  thousand  pounds  for 
her  fortune. 

And  now  let  Mr.  Pen  come  in,  who  has  been  waiting 
all  this  while. 

Having  strung  up  his  nerves,  and  prepared  himself, 
without  at  the  door,  for  the  meeting,  he  came  to  it,  de- 
termined to  face  the  awful  uncle.  He  had  settled  in  his 
mind  that  the  encounter  was  to  be  a  fierce  one,  and  was 
resolved  on  bearing  it  through  with  all  the  courage  and 
dignity  of  the  famous  family  which  he  represented. 
And  he  flung  open  the  door  and  entered  with  the  most 
severe  and  warlike  expression,  armed  cap-a-pie  as  it 
were,  with  lance  couched  and  plumes  displayed,  and 


124  PENDENNIS 

glancing  at  his  adversary,  as  if  to  say,  "  Come  on,  I'm 
ready." 

The  old  man  of  the  world,  as  he  surveyed  the  boy's 
demeanour,  could  hardly  help  a  grin  at  his  admirable 
pompous  simplicity.  Major  Pendennis  too  had  exam- 
ined his  ground ;  and  finding  that  the  widow  was  already 
half  won  over  to  the  enemy,  and  having  a  shrewd  notion 
that  threats  and  tragic  exhortations  would  have  no  effect 
upon  the  boy,  who  was  inclined  to  be  perfectly  stubborn 
and  awfully  serious,  the  Major  laid  aside  the  authorita- 
tive manner  at  once,  and  with  the  most  good-humoured 
natural  smile  in  the  world,  held  out  his  hands  to  Pen, 
shook  the  lad's  passive  fingers  gaily,  and  said,  "  Well, 
Pen,  my  boy,  tell  us  all  about  it." 

Helen  was  delighted  with  the  generosity  of  the  Ma- 
jor's good  humour.  On  the  contrary,  it  quite  took  aback 
and  disappointed  poor  Pen,  whose  nerves  were  strung 
up  for  a  tragedy,  and  who  felt  that  his  grand  entree  was 
altogether  baulked  and  ludicrous.  He  blushed  and 
winced  with  mortified  vanity  and  bewilderment.  He 
felt  immensely  inclined  to  begin  to  cry.  "  I— I — I 
didn't  know  that  you  were  come  till  just  now,"  he  said: 
"  is — is — town  very  full,  I  suppose?  " 

If  Pen  could  hardly  gulp  his  tears  down,  it  was  all 
the  Major  could  do  to  keep  from  laughter.  He  turned 
round  and  shot  a  comical  glance  at  Mrs.  Pendennis,  who 
too  felt  that  the  scene  was  at  once  ridiculous  and  senti- 
mental. And  so,  having  nothing  to  say,  she  went  up  and 
kissed  Mr.  Pen :  as  he  thought  of  her  tenderness  and  soft 
obedience  to  his  wishes,  it  is  very  possible  too  the  boy  was 
melted. 

'  What  a  couple  of  fools  they  are,"  thought  the  old 
guardian.  "  If  I  hadn't  come  down,  she  would  have 


PENDENNIS  125 

driven  over  in  state  to  pay  a  visit  and  give  her  blessing  to 
the  young  lady's  family." 

"  Come,  come,"  said  he,  still  grinning  at  the  couple, 
"  let  us  have  as  little  sentiment  as  possible,  and  Pen,  my 
good  fellow,  tell  us  the  whole  story." 

Pen  got  back  at  once  to  his  tragic  and  heroical  air. 
'  The  story  is,  sir,"  said  he,  "  as  I  have  written  it  to  you 
before.  I  have  made  the  acquaintance  of  a  most  beau- 
tiful and  most  virtuous  lady ;  of  a  high  family,  although 
in  reduced  circumstances;  I  have  found  the  woman  in 
whom  I  know  that  the  happiness  of  my  life  is  centred; 
I  feel  that  I  never,  never  can  think  about  any  woman 
but  her.  I  am  aware  of  the  difference  of  our  ages  and 
other  difficulties  in  my  way.  But  my  affection  was  so 
great  that  I  felt  I  could  surmount  all  these; — that  we 
both  could:  and  she  has  consented  to  unite  her  lot  with 
mine,  and  to  accept  my  heart  and  my  fortune." 

"  How  much  is  that,  my  boy? "  said  the  Major. 
"  Has  anybody  left  you  some  money?  I  don't  know 
that  you  are  worth  a  shilling  in  the  world." 

'  You  know  what  I  have  is  his,"  cried  out  Mrs.  Pen- 
dennis. 

"Good  heavens,  madam,  hold  your  tongue!"  was 
what  the  guardian  was  disposed  to  say;  but  he  kept  his 
temper,  not  without  a  struggle.  "  No  doubt,  no  doubt," 
he  said.  '  You  would  sacrifice  anything  for  him. 
Everybody  knows  that.  But  it  is,  after  all,  then,  your 
fortune  which  Pen  is  offering  to  the  young  lady ;  and  of 
which  he  wishes  to  take  possession  at  eighteen." 

"  I  know  my  mother  will  give  me  anything,"  Pen  said, 
looking  rather  disturbed. 

"Yes,  my  good  fellow,  but  there  is  reason  in  all 
things.  If  your  mother  keeps  the  house,  it  is  but  fair 


126  PENDENNIS 

that  she  should  select  her  company.  When  you  give  her 
house  over  her  head,  and  transfer  her  banker's  account 
to  yourself  for  the  benefit  of  Miss  What-d'-you-call-'em 
—Miss  Costigan — don't  you  think  you  should  at  least 
have  consulted  my  sister  as  one  of  the  principal  parties 
in  the  transaction?  I  am  speaking  to  you,  you  see,  with- 
out the  least  anger  or  assumption  of  authority,  such  as 
the  law  and  your  father's  will  give  me  over  you  for  three 
years  to  come — but  as  one  man  of  the  world  to  another, 
—and  I  ask  you,  if  you  think  that,  because  you  can  do 
what  you  like  with  your  mother,  therefore  you  have  a 
right  to  do  so?  As  you  are  her  dependant,  would  it  not 
have  been  more  generous  to  wait  before  you  took  this 
step,  and  at  least  to  have  paid  her  the  courtesy  to  ask  her 
leave? " 

Pen  held  down  his  head,  and  began  dimly  to  per- 
ceive that  the  action  on  which  he  had  prided  himself  as 
a  most  romantic,  generous  instance  of  disinterested 
affection,  was  perhaps  a  very  selfish  and  headstrong  piece 
of  folly. 

"  I  did  it  in  a  moment  of  passion,"  said  Pen,  flounder- 
ing ;  "  I  was  not  aware  what  I  was  going  to  say  or  to  do  " 
(and  in  this  he  spoke  with  perfect  sincerity).  "But 
now  it  is  said,  and  I  stand  to  it.  No;  I  neither  can  nor 
will  recall  it.  I'll  die  rather  than  do  so.  And  I— I  don't 
want  to  burden  my  mother,"  he  continued.  "  I'll  work 
for  myself.  I'll  go  on  the  stage,  and  act  with  her. 
She — she  says  I  should  do  well  there." 

"  But  will  she  take  you  on  those  terms? "  the  Major 
interposed.  "  Mind,  I  do  not  say  that  Miss  Costigan  is 
not  the  most  disinterested  of  women :  but,  don't  you  sup- 
pose now,  fairly,  that  your  position  as  a  young  gentle- 
man of  ancient  birth  and  decent  expectations,  forms  a 


PENDENNIS  127 

part  of  the  cause  why  she  finds  your  addresses  wel- 
come? " 

"I'll  die,  I  say,  rather  than  forfeit  my  pledge  to  her," 
said  Pen,  doubling  his  fists  and  turning  red. 

'  Who  asks  you,  my  dear  friend? "  answered  the  im- 
perturbable guardian.  "  No  gentleman  breaks  his  word, 
of  course,  when  it  has  been  given  freely.  But  after  all, 
you  can  wait.  You  owe  something  to  your  mother, 
something  to  your  family — something  to  me  as  your 
father's  representative." 

"  Oh,  of  course,"  Pen  said,  feeling  rather  relieved. 

"  Well,  as  you  have  pledged  your  word  to  her,  give  us 
another,  will  you,  Arthur?  " 

"  What  is  it?  "  Arthur  asked. 

"  That  you  will  make  no  private  marriage — that  )rou 
won't  be  taking  a  trip  to  Scotland,  you  understand." 

"  That  would  be  a  falsehood.  Pen  never  told  his 
mother  a  falsehood,"  Helen  said. 

Pen  hung  down  his  head  again,  and  his  eyes  filled  with 
tears  of  shame.  Had  not  this  whole  intrigue  been  a 
falsehood  to  that  tender  and  confiding  creature  who  was 
ready  to  give  up  all  for  his  sake  ?  He  gave  his  uncle  his 
hand. 

"  No,  sir — on  my  word  of  honour,  as  a  gentleman," 
he  said,  "  I  will  never  marry  without  my  mother's  con- 
sent! "  and  giving  Helen  a  bright  parting  look  of  confi- 
dence and  affection  unchangeable,  the  boy  went  out  of 
the  drawing-room  into  his  own  study. 

"  He's  an  angel — he's  an  angel,"  the  mother  cried  out 
in  one  of  her  usual  raptures. 

"  He  comes  of  a  good  stock,  ma'am,"  said  her  brother- 
in-law—  "  of  a  good  stock  on  both  sides."  The  Major 
was  greatly  pleased  with  the  result  of  his  diplomacy — 


128  PEXDENNIS 

so  much  so,  that  he  once  more  saluted  the  tips  of  Mrs. 
Pendennis's  glove,  and  dropping  the  curt,  manly,  and 
straightforward  tone  in  which  he  had  conducted  the  con- 
versation with  the  lad,  assumed  a  certain  drawl,  which  he 
always  adopted  when  he  was  most  conceited  and  fine. 

"  My  dear  creature,"  said  he,  in  that  his  politest  tone, 
"  I  think  it  certainly  as  well  that  I  came  down,  and  I 
flatter  myself  that  last  botte  was  a  successful  one.  I  tell 
you  how  I  came  to  think  of  it.  Three  years  ago  my  kind 
friend  Lady  Ferrybridge  sent  for  me  in  the  greatest 
state  of  alarm  about  her  son  Gretna,  whose  affair  you 
remember,  and  implored  me  to  use  my  influence  with 
the  young  gentleman,  who  was  engaged  in  an  affaire  de 
cceur  with  a  Scotch  clergyman's  daughter,  Miss  Mac 
Toddy.  I  implored,  I  entreated  gentle  measures.  But 
Lord  Ferrybridge  was  furious,  and  tried  the  high  hand. 
Gretna  was  sulky  and  silent,  and  his  parents  thought 
they  had  conquered.  But  what  was  the  fact,  my  dear 
creature  ?  The  young  people  had  been  married  for  three 
months  before  Lord  Ferrybridge  knew  anything  about 
it.  And  that  was  why  I  extracted  the  promise  from 
Master  Pen." 

"  Arthur  would  never  have  done  so,"  Mrs.  Pendennis 
said. 

"  He  hasn't, — that  is  one  comfort,"  answered  the 
brother-in-law. 

Like  a  wary  and  patient  man  of  the  world,  Major 
Pendennis  did  not  press  poor  Pen  any  farther  for  the 
moment,  but  hoped  the  best  from  time,  and  that  the 
young  fellow's  eyes  would  be  opened  before  long  to 
see  the  absurdity  of  which  he  was  guilty.  And  having 
found  out  how  keen  the  boy's  point  of  honour  was,  he 
worked  kindly  upon  that  kindly  feeling  with  great  skill, 


PENDENNIS  129 

discoursing  him  over  their  wine  after  dinner,  and  point- 
ing out  to  Pen  the  necessity  of  a  perfect  uprightness  and 
openness  in  all  his  dealings,  and  entreating  that  his  com- 
munications with  his  interesting  young  friend  (as  the 
Major  politely  called  Miss  Fotheringay)  should  be  car- 
ried on  with  the  knowledge,  if  not  approbation,  of  Mrs. 
Pendennis.  "  After  all,  Pen,"  the  Major  said,  with  a 
convenient  frankness  that  did  not  displease  the  boy, 
whilst  it  advanced  the  interests  of  the  negotiator,  "  you 
must  bear  in  mind  that  you  are  throwing  yourself  away. 
Your  mother  may  submit  to  your  marriage  as  she  would 
to  anything  else  you  desired,  if  you  did  but  cry  long 
enough  for  it :  but  be  sure  of  this,  that  it  can  never  please 
her.  You  take  a  young  woman  off  the  boards  of  a  coun- 
try theatre  and  prefer  her,  for  such  is  the  case,  to  one 
of  the  finest  ladies  in  England.  And  your  mother  will 
submit  to  your  choice,  but  you  can't  suppose  that  she  will 
be  happy  under  it.  I  have  often  fancied,  entre  nous, 
that  my  sister  had  it  in  her  eye  to  make  a  marriage  be- 
tween you  and  that  little  ward  of  hers — Flora,  Laura— 
what's  her  name?  And  I  always  determined  to  do  my 
small  endeavour  to  prevent  any  such  match.  The  child 
has  but  two  thousand  pounds,  I  am  given  to  understand. 
It  is  only  with  the  utmost  economy  and  care  that  my 
sister  can  provide  for  the  decent  maintenance  of  her 
house,  and  for  your  appearance  and  education  as  a  gen- 
tleman ;  and  I  don't  care  to  own  to  you  that  I  had  other 
and  much  higher  views  for  you.  With  your  name  and 
birth,  sir — with  your  talents,  which  I  suppose  are  re- 
spectable, with  the  friends  whom  I  have  the  honour  to 
possess,  I  could  have  placed  you  'in  an  excellent  posi- 
tion— a  remarkable  position  for  a  young  man  of  such 
exceeding  small  means,  and  had  hoped  to  see  you,  at 


130  PENDENNIS 

least,  try  to  restore  the  honours  of  our  name.  Your  mo- 
ther's softness  stopped  one  prospect,  or  you  might  have 
been  a  general,  like  our  gallant  ancestor  who  fought  at 
Ramillies  and  Malplaquet.  I  had  another  plan  in  view : 
my  excellent  and  kind  friend,  Lord  Bagwig,  who  is  very 
well  disposed  towards  me,  would,  I  have  little  doubt, 
have  attached  you  to  his  mission  at  Pumpernickel,  and 
you  might  have  advanced  in  the  diplomatic  service.  But, 
pardon  me  for  recurring  to  the  subject;  how  is  a  man 
to  serve  a  young  gentleman  of  eighteen,  who  proposes 
to  marry  a  lady  of  thirty,  whom  he  has  selected  from  a 
booth  in  a  fair? — well,  not  a  fair, — barn.  That  profes- 
sion at  once  is  closed  to  you.  The  public  service  is  closed 
to  you.  Society  is  closed  to  you.  You  see,  my  good 
friend,  to  what  you  bring  yourself.  You  may  get  on  at 
the  bar,  to  be  sure,  where  I  am  given  to  understand  that 
gentlemen  of  merit  occasionally  marry  out  of  their 
kitchens ;  but  in  no  other  profession.  Or  you  may  come 
and  live  down  here — down  here,  mon  Dieu!  for  ever  " 
(said  the  Major,  with  a  dreary  shrug,  as  he  thought  with 
inexpressible  fondness  of  Pall  Mall),  "  where  your  mo- 
ther will  receive  the  Mrs.  Arthur  that  is  to  be,  with  per- 
fect kindness ;  where  the  good  people  of  the  county  won't 
visit  you ;  and  where,  by  Gad,  sir,  I  shall  be  shy  of  visit- 
ing you  myself,  for  I'm  a  plain  spoken  man,  and  I  own 
to  you  that  I  like  to  live  with  gentlemen  for  my  com- 
panions; where  you  will  have  to  live,  with  rum-and- 
water-drinking  gentlemen-farmers,  and  drag  through 
your  life  the  young  husband  of  an  old  woman,  who,  if  she 
doesn't  quarrel  with  your  mother,  will  at  least  cost  that 
lady  her  position  in  society,  and  drag  her  down  into  that 
dubious  caste  into  which  you  must  inevitably  fall.  It 
is  no  affair  of  mine,  my  good  sir.  I  am  not  angry. 


PENDENNIS  131 

Your  downfall  will  not  hurt  me  farther  than  that  it  will 
extinguish  the  hopes  I  had  of  seeing  my  family  once 
more  taking  its  place  in  the  world.  It  is  only  your  mo- 
ther and  yourself  that  will  be  ruined.  And  I  pity  you 
both  from  my  soul.  Pass  the  claret :  it  is  some  I  sent  to 
your  poor  father;  I  remember  I  bought  it  at  poor  Lord 
Levant's  sale.  But  of  course,"  added  the  Major,  smack- 
ing the  wine,  "  having  engaged  yourself,  you  will  do 
what  becomes  you  as  a  man  of  honour,  however  fatal 
your  promise  may  be.  However,  promise  us  on  our  side, 
my  boy,  what  I  set  out  by  entreating  you  to  grant,— 
that  there  shall -be  nothing  clandestine,  that  you  will  pur- 
sue your  studies,  that  you  will  only  visit  your  interesting 
friend  at  proper  intervals.  Do  you  write  to  her  much?  " 

Pen  blushed  and  said,  "  Why,  yes,  he  had  written." 

"  I  suppose  verses,  eh!  as  well  as  prose?  I  was  a  dab 
at  verses  myself.  I  recollect  when  I  first  joined,  I  used 
to  write  verses  for  the  fellows  in  the  regiment ;  and  did 
some  pretty  things  in  that  way.  I  was  talking  to  my  old 
friend  General  Hobbler  about  some  lines  I  dashed  off 
for  him  in  the  year  1806,  when  we  were  at  the  Cape,  and, 
Gad,  he  remembered  every  line  of  them  still;  for  he'd 
used  'em  so  often,  the  old  rogue,  and  had  actually  tried 
'em  on  Mrs.  Hobbler,  sir — who  brought  him  sixty  thou- 
sand pounds.  I  suppose  you've  tried  verses,  eh,  Pen?  " 

Pen  blushed  again,  and  said,  "  Why,  yes,  he  had  writ- 
ten verses." 

"  And  does  the  fair  one  respond  in  poetry  or  prose  ?  " 
asked  the  Major,  eyeing  his  nephew  with  the  queerest 
expression,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  O  Moses  and  Green 
Spectacles!  what  a  fool  the  boy  is." 

Pen  blushed  again.    She  had  written,  but  not  in  verse, 
•  the  young  lover  owned,  and  he.  gave  his  breast-pocket 


132  PENDENNIS 

the  benefit  of  a  squeeze  with  his  left  arm,  which  the  Ma- 
jor remarked,  according  to  his  wont. 

"  You  have  got  the  letters  there,  I  see,"  said  the  old 
campaigner,  nodding  at  Pen  and  pointing  to  his  own 
chest  (which  was  manfully  wadded  with  cotton  by  Mr. 
Stultz ) .  '  You  know  you  have.  I  would  give  twopence 
to  see  'em." 

"  Why,"  said  Pen,  twiddling  the  stalks  of  the  straw- 
berries, "  I — I,"  but  this  sentence  was  never  finished;  for 
Pen's  face  was  so  comical  and  embarrassed,  as  the  Major 
watched  it,  that  the  elder  could  contain  his  gravity  no 
longer,  and  burst  into  a  fit  of  laughter,  in  which  chorus 
Pen  himself  was  obliged  to  join  after  a  minute:  when 
he  broke  out  fairly  into  a  guffaw. 

It  sent  them  with  great  good  humour  into  Mrs.  Pen- 
dennis's  drawing-room.  She  was  pleased  to  hear  them 
laughing  in  the  hall  as  they  crossed  it. 

'You  sly  rascal!"  said  the  Major,  putting  his  arm 
gaily  on  Pen's  shoulder,  and  giving  a  playful  push  at 
the  boy's  breast-pocket.    He  felt  the  papers  crackling 
there  sure  enough.    The  young  fellow  was  delighted— 
conceited — triumphant— and  in  one  word,  a  spooney. 

The  pair  came  to  the  tea-table  in  the  highest  spirits. 
The  Major's  politeness  was  beyond  expression.  He  had 
never  tasted  such  good  tea,  and  such  bread  was  only  to 
be  had  in  the  country.  He  asked  Mrs.  Pendennis  for 
one  of  her  charming  songs.  He  then  made  Pen  sing, 
and  was  delighted  and  astonished  at  the  beauty  of  the 
boy's  voice:  he  made  his  nephew  fetch  his  maps  and 
drawings,  and  praised  them  as  really  remarkable  works 
of  talent  in  a  young  fellow:  he  complimented  him  on 
his  French  pronunciation :  he  flattered  the  simple  boy  as 
adroitly  as  ever  lover  flattered  a  mistress :  and  when  bed- 


PENDENNIS  133 

time  came,  mother  and  son  went  to  their  several  rooms 
perfectly  enchanted  with  the  kind  Major. 

When  they  had  reached  those  apartments,  I  suppose 
Helen  took  to  her  knees  as  usual :  and  Pen  read  over  his 
letters  before  going  to  bed:  just  as  if  he  didn't  know 
every  word  of  them  by  heart  already.  In  truth  there 
were  but  three  of  those  documents:  and  to  learn  their 
contents  required  no  great  effort  of  memory. 

In  No.  1,  Miss  Fotheringay  presents  grateful  com- 
pliments to  Mr.  Pendennis,  and  in  her  papa's  name  and 
her  own  begs  to  thank  him  for  his  most  beautiful  pres- 
ents. They  will  always  be  kept  carefully;  and  Miss  F. 
and  Captain  C.  will  never  forget  the  delightful  evening 
which  they  passed  on  Tuesday  last. 

No.  2,  said — Dear  Sir,  we  shall  have  a  small  quiet 
party  of  social  friends  at  our  humble  board,  next  Tues- 
day evening,  at  an  early  tea,  when  I  shall  wear  the  beau- 
tiful scarf  which,  with  its  accompanying  delightful 
verses,  I  shall  ever,  ever  cherish:  and  papa  bids  me  say 
how  happy  he  will  be  if  you  will  join  f(  the  feast  of  rea- 
son and  the  flow  of  soul "  in  our  festive  little  party,  as 
I  am  sure  will  be  your  truly  grateful 

EMILY  FOTHERINGAY. 

No.  3  was  somewhat  more  confidential,  and  showed 
that  matters  had  proceeded  rather  far.  You  were  odious 
yesterday  night,  the  letter  said.  Why  did  you  not  come 
to  the  stage-door?  Papa  could  not  escort  me  on  account 
of  his  eye ;  he  had  an  accident,  and  fell  down  over  a  loose 
carpet  on  the  stair  on  Sunday  night.  I  saw  you  looking 
at  Miss  Diggle  all  night;  and  you  were  so  enchanted 
with  Lydia  Languish  you  scarcely  once  looked  at  Julia. 


154  PENDENNIS 

I  could  have  crushed  Bingley,  I  was  so  angry.  I  play 
Ella  Rosenberg  on  Friday:  will  you  come  then?  Miss 
Diggle  performs — ever  your 

E.  F. 

These  three  letters  Mr.  Pen  used  to  read  at  intervals, 
during  the  day  and  night,  and  embrace  with  that  delight 
and  fervour  which  such  beautiful  compositions  surely 
warranted.  A  thousand  times  at  least  he  had  kissed 
fondly  the  musky  satin  paper,  made  sacred  to  him  by 
the  hand  of  Emily  Fotheringay.  This  was  all  he  had 
in  return  for  his  passion  and  flames,  his  vows  and  pro- 
tests, his  rhymes  and  similes,  his  wakeful  nights  and  end- 
less thoughts,  his  fondness,  fears  and  folly.  The  young 
wiseacre  had  pledged  away  his  all  for  this:  signed  his 
name  to  endless  promissory  notes,  conferring  his  heart 
upon  the  bearer:  bound  himself  for  life,  and  got  back 
twopence  as  an  equivalent.  For  Miss  Costigan  was  a 
young  lady  of  such  perfect  good  conduct  and  self-com- 
mand, that  she  never  would  have  thought  of  giving 
more,  and  reserved  the  treasures  of  her  affection  until 
she  could  transfer  them  lawfully  at  church. 

Howbeit,  Mr.  Pen  was  content  with  what  tokens  of 
regard  he  had  got,  and  mumbled  over  his  three  letters 
in  a  rapture  of  high  spirits,  and  went  to  sleep  delighted 
with  his  kind  old  uncle  from  London,  who  must  evi- 
dently yield  to  his  wishes  in  time;  and,  in  a  word,  in  a 
preposterous  state  of  contentment  with  himself  and  all 
the  world. 


CHAPTER  IX 


IN  WHICH  THE  MAJOR  OPENS  THE  CAMPAIGN 

ET  those  who  have  the 
blessed  privilege 
of  an  entree  into 
the  most  select  cir- 
cles, admit  that 
Major  Pendennis 
was  a  man  of  no 
ordinary  generos- 
ity and  affection, 
in  the  sacrifice 
which  he  now 
made.  He  gave 
up  London  in 
May, — his  newspapers  and  his  mornings — his  after- 
noons from  club  to  club,  his  little  confidential  visits  to 
my  Ladies,  his  rides  in  Rotten  Row,  his  dinners,  and  his 
stall  at  the  Opera,  his  rapid  escapades  to  Fulham  or 
Richmond  on  Saturdays  and  Sundays,  his  bow  from  my 
Lord  Duke  or  my  Lord  Marquis  at  the  great  London 
entertainments,  and  his  name  in  the  "  Morning  Post " 
of  the  succeeding  day, — his  quieter  little  festivals,  more 
select,  secret,  and  delightful — all  these  he  resigned  to 
lock  himself  into  a  lone  little  country  house,  with  a  sim- 
ple widow  and  a  greenhorn  of  a  son,  a  mawkish  curate, 
and  a  little  girl  of  twelve  years  of  age. 

He  made  the  sacrifice,  and  it  was  the  greater  that 

135 


136  PENDENNIS 

few  knew  the  extent  of  it.  His  letters  came  down 
franked  from  town,  and  he  showed  the  invitations  to 
Helen  with  a  sigh.  It  was  beautiful  and  tragical  to  see 
him  refuse  one  party  after  another— at  least  to  those 
who  could  understand,  as  Helen  didn't,  the  melancholy 
grandeur  of  his  self-denial.  Helen  did  not,  or  only 
smiled  at  the  awful  pathos  with  which  the  Major  spoke 
of  the  Court  Guide  in  general:  but  young  Pen  looked 
with  great  respect  at  the  great  names  upon  the  super- 
scriptions of  his  uncle's  letters,  and  listened  to  the  Ma- 
jor's stories  about  the  fashionable  world  with  constant 
interest  and  sympathy. 

The  elder  Pendennis's  rich  memory  was  stored  with 
thousands  of  these  delightful  tales,  and  he  poured  them 
into  Pen's  willing  ear.  He  knew  the  name  and  pedigree 
of  everybody  in  the  Peerage,  and  everybody's  relations. 
"  My  dear  boy,"  he  would  say,  with  a  mournful  earnest- 
ness and  veracity,  "  you  cannot  begin  your  genealogical 
studies  too  early;  I  wish  to  Heavens  you  would  read  in 
Debrett  every  day.  Not  so  much  the  historical  part  (for 
the  pedigrees,  between  ourselves,  are  many  of  them  very 
fabulous,  and  there  are  few  families  that  can  show  such 
a  clear  descent  as  our  own)  as  the  account  of  family  alli- 
ances, and  who  is  related  to  whom.  I  have  known  a 
man's  career  in  life  blasted,  by  ignorance  on  this  all- 
important  subject.  Why,  only  last  month,  at  dinner  at 
my  Lord  Hobanob's,  a  young  man,  who  has  lately  been 
received  amongst  us,  young  Mr.  Suckling  (author  of  a 
work,  I  believe),  began  to  speak  lightly  of  Admiral 
Bowser's  conduct  for  ratting  to  Ministers,  in  what  I 
must  own  is  the  most  audacious  manner.  But  who  do 
you  think  sate  next  and  opposite  to  this  Mr.  Suckling? 
Why— why,  next  to  him  was  Lady  Grampound  Bow- 


PENDENNIS  137 

ser's  daughter,  and  opposite  to  him  was  Lord  Gram- 
pound  Bowser's  son-in-law.  The  infatuated  young  man 
went  on  cutting  his  jokes  at  the  Admiral's  expense,  fan- 
cying that  all  the  world  was  laughing  with  him,  and  I 
leave  you  to  imagine  Lady  Hobanob's  feelings — Hoba- 
nob's! — those  of  every  well-bred  man,  as  the  wretched 
intrus  was  so  exposing  himself.  He  will  never  dine 
again  in  South  Street.  I  promise  you  that." 

With  such  discourses  the  Major  entertained  his 
nephew,  as  he  paced  the  terrace  in  front  of  the  house 
for  his  two  hours'  constitutional  walk,  or  as  they  sate 
together  after  dinner  over  their  wine.  He  grieved  that 
Sir  Francis  Clavering  had  not  come  down  to  the  Park, 
to  live  in  it  since  his  marriage,  and  to  make  a  society  for 
the  neighbourhood.  He  mourned  that  Lord  Eyrie  was 
not  in  the  country,  that  he  might  take  Pen  and  present 
him  to  his  lordship.  "  He  has  daughters,"  the  Major 
said.  'Who  knows?  you  might  have  married  Lady 
Emily  or  Lady  Barbara  Trehawk;  but  all  those  dreams 
are  over ;  my  poor  fellow,  you  must  lie  on  the  bed  which 
you  have  made  for  yourself." 

These  things  to  hear  did  young  Pendennis  seriously 
incline.  They  are  not  so  interesting  in  print  as  when 
delivered  orally;  but  the  Major's  anecdotes  of  the  great 
George,  of  the  Royal  Dukes,  of  the  statesmen,  beauties, 
and  fashionable  ladies  of  the  day,  filled  young  Pen's  soul 
with  longing  and  wonder;  and  he  found  the  conversa- 
tions with  his  guardian,  which  sadly  bored  and  perplexed 
poor  Mrs.  Pendennis,  for  his  own  part  never  tedious. 

It  can't  be  said  that  Mr.  Pen's  new  guide,  philosopher 
and  friend,  discoursed  him  on  the  most  elevated  subjects, 
or  treated  the  subjects  which  he  chose  in  the  most  ele- 
vated manner.  But  his  morality,  such  as  it  was,  was 


138  PENDENNIS 

consistent.  It  might  not,  perhaps,  tend  to  a  man's  prog- 
ress in  another  world,  but  it  was  pretty  well  calculated 
to  advance  his  interests  in  this;  and  then  it  must  be  re- 
membered, that  the  Major  never  for  one  instant  doubted 
that  his  views  were  the  only  views  practicable,  and  that 
his  conduct  was  perfectly  virtuous  and  respectable.  He 
was  a  man  of  honour,  in  a  word :  and  had  his  eyes,  what 
he  called,  open.  He  took  pity  on  this  young  greenhorn 
of  a  nephew,  and  wanted  to  open  his  eyes  too. 

No  man,  for  instance,  went  more  regularly  to  church 
when  in  the  country  than  the  old  bachelor.  "  It  don't 
matter  so  much  in  town,  Pen,"  he  said,  "  for  there  the 
women  go  and  the  men  are  not  missed.  But  when  a  gen- 
tleman is  sur  ses  terres,  he  must  give  an  example  to  the 
country  people :  and  if  I  could  turn  a  tune,  I  even  think 
I  should  sing.  The  Duke  of  St.  David's,  whom  I  have 
the  honour  of  knowing,  always,  sings  in  the  country,  and 
let  me  tell  you,  it  has  a  doosed  fine  effect  from  the  family 
pew.  And  you  are  somebody  down  here.  As  long  as 
the  Claverings  are  away  you  are  the  first  man  in  the  par- 
ish: or  as  good  as  any.  You  might  represent  the  town 
if  you  played  your  cards  well.  Your  poor  dear  father 
would  have  done  so  had  he  lived ;  so  might  you. — Not  if 
you  marry  a  lady,  however  amiable,  whom  the  country 
people  won't  meet. — Well,  well:  it's  a  painful  subject. 
Let  us  change  it,  my  boy."  But  if  Major  Pendennis 
changed  the  subject  once  he  recurred  to  it  a  score  of 
times  in  the  day:  and  the  moral  of  his  discourse  always 
was,  that  Pen  was  throwing  himself  away.  Now  it  does 
not  require  much  coaxing  or  wheedling  to  make  a  simple 
boy  believe  that  he  is  a  very  fine  fellow. 

Pen  was  glad  enough,  we  have  said,  to  listen  to  his 
elder's  talk.  The  conversation  of  Captain  Costigan  be- 


PENDENNIS  139 

came  by  no  means  pleasant  to  him,  and  the  idea  of  that 
tipsy  old  father-in-law  haunted  him  with  terror.  He 
couldn't  bring  that  man,  unshaven  and  reeking  of  punch, 
to  associate  with  his  mother.  Even  about  Emily— he 
faltered  when  the  pitiless  guardian  began  to  question 
him.  "  Was  she  accomplished? "  He  was  obliged  to 
own,  no.  "  Was  she  clever? "  Well,  she  had  a  very 
good  average  intellect:  but  he  could  not  absolutely  say 
she  was  clever.  "  Come,  let  us  see  some  of  her  letters." 
So  Pen  confessed  that  he  had  but  those  three  of  which 
we  have  made  mention — and  that  they  were  but  trivial 
invitations  or  answers. 

"  She  is  cautious  enough,"  the  Major  said,  drily. 
"  She  is  older  than  you,  my  poor  boy;  "  and  then  he 
apologised  with  the  utmost  frankness  and  humility,  and 
flung  himself  upon  Pen's  good  feelings,  begging  the  lad 
to  excuse  a  fond  old  uncle,  who  had  only  his  family's 
honour  in  view — for  Arthur  was  ready  to  flame  up  in 
indignation  whenever  Miss  Costigan's  honesty  was 
doubted,  and  swore  that  he  would  never  have  her  name 
mentioned  lightly,  and  never,  never  would  part  from 
her. 

He  repeated  this  to  the  uncle  and  his  friends  at  home, 
and  also,  it  must  be  confessed,  to  Miss  Fotheringay  and 
the  amiable  family  at  Chatteris,  with  whom  he  still  con- 
tinued to  spend  some  portion  of  his  time.  Miss  Emily 
was  alarmed  when  she  heard  of  the  arrival  of  Pen's 
guardian,  and  rightly  conceived  that  the  Major  came 
down  with  hostile  intentions  to  herself.  "  I  suppose  ye 
intend  to  leave  me,  now  your  grand  relation  has  come 
down  from  town.  He'll  carry  ye  off,  and  you'll  forget 
your  poor  Emily,  Mr.  Arthur !  " 

Forget  her!    In  her  presence,  in  that  of  Miss  Rouncy, 


140  PENDENNIS 

the  Columbine  and  Milly's  confidential  friend  of  the 
Company,  in  the  presence  of  the  Captain  himself,  Pen 
swore  he  never  could  think  of  any  other  woman  but  his 
beloved  Miss  Fotheringay;  and  the  Captain,  looking 
up  at  his  foils,  which  were  hung  as  a  trophy  on  the  wall 
of  the  room  where  Pen  and  he  used  to  fence,  grimly  said, 
he  would  not  advoise  any  man  to  meddle  rashly  with  the 
affections  of  his  darling  child;  and  would  never  believe 
his  gallant  young  Arthur,  whom  he  treated  as  his  son, 
whom  he  called  his  son,  would  ever  be  guilty  of  conduct 
so  revolting  to  every  idaya  of  honour  and  humanitee. 

He  went  up  and  embraced  Pen  after  speaking.  He 
cried,  and  wiped  his  eye  with  one  large  dirty  hand  as  he 
clasped  Pen  with  the  other.  Arthur  shuddered  in  that 
grasp,  and  thought  of  his  uncle  at  home.  His  father- 
in-law  looked  unusually  dirty  and  shabby;  the  odour  of 
whisky-and-water  was  even  more  decided  than  in  com- 
mon. How  was  he  to  bring  that  man  and  his  mother  to- 
gether? He  trembled  when  he  thought  that  he  had 
absolutely  written  to  Costigan  ( inclosing  to  him  a  sover- 
eign, the  loan  of  which  the  worthy  gentleman  needed ) , 
and  saying,  that  one  day  he  hoped  to  sign  himself  his 
affectionate  son,  Arthur  Pendennis.  He  was  glad  to 
get  away  from  Chatteris  that  day;  from  Miss  Rouncy 
the  confidante;  from  the  old  toping  father-in-law ;  from 
the  divine  Emily  herself.  "  O  Emily,  Emily,"  he  cried 
inwardly,  as  he  rattled  homewards  on  Rebecca,  "  you  lit- 
tle know  what  sacrifices  I  am  making  for  you!— for  you 
who  are  always  so  cold,  so  cautious,  so  mistrustful! " 

Pen  never  rode  over  to  Chatteris,  but  the  Major 
found  out  on  what  errand  the  boy  had  been.  Faithful 
to  his  plan,  Major  Pendennis  gave  his  nephew  no  let  or 
hindrance;  but  somehow  the  constant  feeling  that  the 


PENDENNIS  141 

senior's  eye  was  upon  him,  an  uneasy  shame  attendant 
upon  that  inevitable  confession  which  the  evening's  con- 
versation would  be  sure  to  elicit  in  the  most  natural  sim- 
ple manner,  made  Peri  go  less  frequently  to  sigh  away 
his  soul  at  the  feet  of  his  charmer  than  he  had  been  wont 
to  do  previous  to  his  uncle's  arrival.  There  was  no  use 
trying  to  deceive  him;  there  was  no  pretext  of  dining 
with  Smirke,  or  reading  Greek  plays  with  Foker;  Pen 
felt,  when  he  returned  from  one  of  his  flying  visits,  that 
everybody  knew  whence  he  came,  and  appeared  quite 
guilty  before  his  mother  and  guardian,  over  their  books 
or  their  game  at  picquet. 

Once  having  walked  out  half-a-mile,  to  the  Fairoaks' 
Inn,  beyond  the  Lodge  gates,  to  be  in  readiness  for  the 
Competitor  coach,  which  changed  horses  there,  to  take 
a  run  for  Chatteris,  a  man  on  the  roof  touched  his  hat 
to  the  young  gentleman:  it  was  his  uncle's  man,  Mr. 
Morgan,  who  was  going  on  a  message  for  his  master, 
and  had  been  took  up  at  the  Lodge,  as  he  said.  And  Mr. 
Morgan  came  back  by  the  Rival,  too;  so  that  Pen  had 
the  pleasure  of  that  domestic's  company  both  ways. 
Nothing  was  said  at  home.  The  lad  seemed  to  have 
every  decent  liberty;  and  yet  he  felt  himself  dimly 
watched  and  guarded,  and  that  there  were  eyes  upon  him 
even  in  the  presence  of  his  Dulcinea. 

In  fact,  Pen's  suspicions  wrere  not  unfounded,  and  his 
guardian  had  sent  forth  to  gather  all  possible  informa- 
tion regarding  the  lad  and  his  interesting  young  friend. 
The  discreet  and  ingenious  Mr.  Morgan,  a  London  con- 
fidential valet,  whose  fidelity  could  be  trusted,  had  been 
to  Chatteris  more  than  once,  and  made  every  inquiry  re- 
garding the  past  history  and  present  habits  of  the  Cap- 
tain and  his  daughter.  He  delicately  cross-examined  the 


142  PENDENNIS 

waiters,  the  ostlers,  and  all  the  inmates  of  the  bar  at  the 
George,  and  got  from  them  what  little  they  knew  re- 
specting the  worthy  Captain.  He  was  not  held  in  very 
great  regard  there,  as  it  appeared.  The  waiters  never 
saw  the  colour  of  his  money,  and  were  warned  not  to 
furnish  the  poor  gentleman  with  any  liquor  for  which 
some  other  party  was  not  responsible.  He  swaggered 
sadly  about  the  coffee-room  there,  consumed  a  tooth- 
pick, and  looked  over  the  paper,  and  if  any  friend  asked 
him  to  dinner  he  stayed. 

From  the  servants  of  the  officers  at  the  barracks  Mr. 
Morgan  found  that  the  Captain  had  so  frequently  and 
outrageously  inebriated  himself  there,  that  Colonel 
Swallowtail  had  forbidden  him  the  mess-room.  The  in- 
defatigable Morgan  then  put  himself  in  communication 
with  some  of  the  inferior  actors  at  the  theatre,  and 
pumped  them  over  their  cigars  and  punch,  and  all 
agreed  that  Costigan  was  poor,  shabby,  and  given  to 
debt  and  to  drink.  But  there  was  not  a  breath  upon  the 
reputation  of  Miss  Fotheringay:  her  father's  courage 
was  reported  to  have  displayed  itself  on  more  than  one 
occasion  towards  persons  disposed  to  treat  his  daughter 
with  freedom.  She  never  came  to  the  theatre  but  with 
her  father:  in  his  most  inebriated  moments,  that  gentle- 
man kept  a  watch  over  her;  finally  Mr.  Morgan,  from 
his  own  experience,  added  that  he  had  been  to  see  her 
hact,  and  was  uncommon  delighted  with  the  perform- 
ance, besides  thinking  her  a  most  splendid  woman. 

Mrs.  Creed,  the  pew-opener,  confirmed  these  state- 
ments to  Doctor  Portman,  who  examined  her  personally. 
Mrs.  Creed  had  nothing  unfavourable  to  her  lodger  to 
divulge.  She  saw  nobody;  only  one  or  two  ladies  of  the 
theatre.  The  Captain  did  intoxicate  himself  sometimes, 


PENDENNIS  143 

and  did  not  always  pay  his  rent  regularly,  but  he  did 
when  he  had  money,  or  rather  Miss  Fotheringay  did. 
Since  the  young  gentleman  from  Clavering  had  been 
and  took  lessons  in  fencing,  one  or  two  more  had  come 
from  the  barracks;  Sir  Derby  Oaks,  and  his  young 
friend,  Mr.  Foker,  which  was  often  together ;  and  which 
was  always  driving  over  from  Baymouth  in  the  tandem. 
But  on  the  occasions  of  the  lessons,  Miss  F.  was  very  sel- 
dom present,  and  generally  came  down  stairs  to  Mrs. 
Creed's  own  room. 

The  Doctor  and  the  Major  consulting  together  as 
they  often  did,  groaned  in  spirit  over  that  information. 
Major  Pendennis  openly  expressed  his  disappointment; 
and,  I  believe,  the  Divine  himself  was  ill-pleased  at  not 
being  able  to  pick  a  hole  in  poor  Miss  Fotheringay's 
reputation. 

Even  about  Pen  himself,  Mrs.  Creed's  reports  were 
desperately  favourable.  '  Whenever  he  come,"  Mrs. 
Creed  said,  "  she  always  have  me  or  one  of  the  children 
with  her.  And  Mrs.  Creed,  marm,  says  she,  if  you 
please,  marm,  you'll  on  no  account  leave  the  room  when 
that  young  gentleman's  here.  And  many's  the  time  I've 
seen  him  a  lookin'  as  if  he  wished  I  was  away,  poor 
young  man :  and  he  took  to  coming  in  service  time,  when 
I  wasn't  at  home,  of  course:  but  she  always  had  one  of 
the  boys  up  if  her  Pa  wasn't  at  home,  or  old  Mr.  Bows 
with  her  a  teaching  of  her  her  lesson,  or  one  of  the  young 
ladies  of  the  theayter." 

It  was  all  true:  whatever  encouragements  might  have 
been  given  him  before  he  avowed  his  passion,  the  pru- 
dence of  Miss  Emily  was  prodigious  after  Pen  had  de- 
clared himself:  and  the  poor  fellow  chafed  against  her 
hopeless  reserve. 


144  PENDENNIS 

The  Major  surveyed  the  state  of  things  with  a  sigh. 
"  If  it  were  but  a  temporary  liaison,"  the  excellent  man 
said,  "  one  could  bear  it.  A  young  fellow  must  sow  his 
wild  oats,  and  that  sort  of  thing.  But  a  virtuous  attach- 
ment is  the  deuce.  It  comes  of  the  d — d  romantic  notions 
boys  get  from  being  brought  up  by  women." 

"  Allow  me  to  say,  Major,  that  you  speak  a  little  too 
like  a  man  of  the  world,"  replied  the  Doctor.  "  No- 
thing can  be  more  desirable  for  Pen  than  a  virtuous 
attachment  for  a  young  lady  of  his  own  rank  and  with 
a  corresponding  fortune — this  present  infatuation,  of 
course,  I  must  deplore  as  sincerely  as  you  do.  If  I  were 
his  guardian  I  should  command  him  to  give  it  up." 

'  The  very  means,  I  tell  you,  to  make  him  marry  to- 
morrow. We  have  got  time  from  him,  that  is  all,  and 
we  must  do  our  best  with  that." 

"  I  say,  Major,"  said  the  Doctor,  at  the  end  of  the 
conversation  in  which  the  above  subject  was  discussed— 
"  I  am  not,  of  course,  a  play-going  man— but  suppose, 
I  say,  we  go  and  see  her." 

The  Major  laughed — he  had  been  a  fortnight  at  Fair- 
oaks,  and  strange  to  say,  had  not  thought  of  that. 
'Well,"  he  said,  "why  not?  After  all,  it  is  not  my 
niece,  but  Miss  Fotheringay  the  actress,  and  we  have 
as  good  a  right  as  any  other  of  the  public  to  see  her  if 
we  pay  our  money."  So  upon  a  day  when  it  was  ar- 
ranged that  Pen  was  to  dine  at  home,  and  pass  the  even- 
ing with  his  mother,  the  two  elderly  gentlemen  drove 
over  to  Chatteris  in  the  Doctor's  chaise,  and  there,  like 
a  couple  of  jolly  bachelors,  dined  at  the  George  Inn, 
before  proceeding  to  the  play. 

Only  two  other  guests  were  in  the  room,— an  officer 
of  the  regiment  quartered  at  Chatteris,  and  a  young 


PENDENNIS  145 

gentleman  whom  the  Doctor  thought  he  had  somewhere 
seen.  They  left  them  at  their  meal,  however,  and  has- 
tened to  the  theatre.  It  was  "  Hamlet "  over  again. 
Shakspeare  was  Article  XL.  of  stout  old  Doctor  Port- 
man's  creed,  to  which  he  always  made  a  point  of  testi- 
fying publicly  at  least  once  in  a  year. 

We  have  described  the  play  before,  and  how  those 
who  saw  Miss  Fotheringay  perform  in  Ophelia  saw  pre- 
cisely the  same  thing  on  one  night  as  on  another.  Both 
the  elderly  gentlemen  looked  at  her  with  extraordinary 
interest,  thinking  how  very  much  young  Pen  was 
charmed  with  her. 

"  Gad,"  said  the  Major,  between  his  teeth,  as  he  sur- 
veyed her  when  she  was  called  forward  as  usual,  and 
swept  her  curtsies  to  the  scanty  audience,  "  the  young 
rascal  has  not  made  a  bad  choice." 

The  Doctor  applauded  her  loudly  and  loyally. 
"  Upon  my  word,"  said  he,  "  she  is  a  very  clever  actress; 
and  I  must  say,  Major,  she  is  endowed  with  very  consid- 
erable personal  attractions." 

"  So  that  young  officer  thinks  in  the  stage-box,"  Ma- 
jor Pendennis  answered,  and  he  pointed  out  to  Doctor 
Portman's  attention  the  young  dragoon  of  the  George 
Coffee-room,  who  sate  in  the  box  in  question,  and  ap- 
plauded with  immense  enthusiasm.  She  looked  ex- 
tremely sweet  upon  him  too,  thought  the  Major:  but 
that's  their  way — and  he  shut  up  his  natty  opera-glass 
and  pocketed  it,  as  if  he  wished  to  see  no  more  that  night. 
Nor  did  the  Doctor,  of  course,  propose  to  stay  for  the 
after-piece,  so  they  rose  and  left  the  theatre ;  the  Doctor 
returning  to  Mrs.  Portman,  who  was  on  a  visit  at  the 
Deanery,  and  the  Major  walking  home  full  of  thought 
towards  the  George,  where  he  had  bespoken  a  bed. 


CHAPTER  X 


FACING  THE  ENEMY 

[  AUNTERING  homewards,  Major  Pen- 
dennis  reached  the  hotel  presently, 
and  found  Mr.  Morgan,  his  faith- 
ful valet,  awaiting  him  at  the  door, 
who  stopped  his  master  as  he  was 
about  to  take  a  candle  to  go  to  bed, 
and  said,  with  his  usual  air  of 
knowing  deference,  "  I  think,  sir, 
if  you  would  go  into  the  coffee- 
room,  there's  a  young  gentleman 
there  as  you  would  like  to  see." 

"  What,  is  Mr.  Arthur  here? " 
the  Major  said,  in  great  anger. 
"  No,  sir — but  his  great  friend,  Mr.  Foker,  sir.  Lady 
Hagnes  Foker's  son  is  here,  sir.  He's  been  asleep  in 
the  coffee-room  since  he  took  his  dinner,  and  has  just 
rung  for  his  coffee,  sir.  And  I  think,  p'raps,  you  might 
like  to  git  into  conversation  with  him,"  the  valet  said, 
opening  the  coffee-room  door. 

The  Major  entered;  and  there  indeed  was  Mr.  Foker, 
the  only  occupant  of  the  place.  He  had  intended  to  go 
to  the  play  too,  but  sleep  had  overtaken  him  after  a 
copious  meal,  and  he  had  flung  up  his  legs  on  the  bench, 
and  indulged  in  a  nap  instead  of  the  dramatic  amuse- 
ment. The  Major  was  meditating  how  to  address  the 
young  man,  but  the  latter  prevented  him  that  trouble. 

146 


PENDENNIS  147 

"  Like  to  look  at  the  evening  paper,  sir? "  said  Mr. 
Foker,  who  was  always  communicative  and  affable ;  and 
he  took  up  the  "  Globe  "  from  his  table,  and  offered  it 
to  the  new  comer. 

"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,"  said  the  Major, 
with  a  grateful  bow  and  smile.  "  If  I  don't  mistake  the 
family  likeness,  I  have  the  pleasure  of  speaking  to  Mr. 
Henry  Foker,  Lady  Agnes  Foker's  son.  I  have  the 
happiness  to  name  her  ladyship  among  my  acquaintances 
— and  you  bear,  sir,  a  Rosherville  face." 

"  Hullo!  I  beg  your  pardon,"  Mr.  Foker  said,  "  I 
took  you  " — he  was  going  to  say — "  I  took  you  for  a 
commercial  gent."  But  he  stopped  that  phrase.  '  To 
whom  have  I  the  pleasure  of  speaking?  "  he  added. 

'  To  a  relative  of  a  friend  and  schoolfellow  of  yours 
— Arthur  Pendennis,  my  nephew,  who  has  often  spoken 
to  me  about  you  in  terms  of  great  regard.  I  am  Major 
Pendennis,  of  whom  you  may  have  heard  him  speak. 
May  I  take  my  soda-water  at  your  table?  I  have  had 
the  pleasure  of  sitting  at  your  grandfather's." 

"  Sir,  you  do  me  proud,"  said  Mr.  Foker,  with  much 
courtesy.  "  And  so  you  are  Arthur  Pendennis's  uncle, 
are  you? " 

"  And  guardian,"  added  the  Major. 

"  He's  as  good  a  fellow  as  ever  stepped,  sir,"  said  Mr. 
Foker. 

"  I  am  glad  you  think  so." 

"And  clever,  too — I  was  always  a  stupid  chap,  I  was 
—but  you  see,  sir,  I  know  'em  when  they  are  clever,  and 
like  'em  of  that  sort." 

*  You  show  your  taste  and  your  modesty,  too,"  said 
the  Major.  "  I  have  heard  Arthur  repeatedly  speak  of 
you,  and  he  said  your  talents  were  very  good." 


148  PENDENNIS 

"  I'm  not  good  at  the  books,"  Mr.  Foker  said,  wag- 
ging his  head—  "  never  could  manage  that— Pendennis 
could— he  used  to  do  half  the  chaps'  verses— and  yet  you 
are  his  guardian;  and  I  hope  you  will  pardon  me  for 
saying  that  I  think  he's  what  we  call  a  flat,"  the  candid 
young  gentleman  said. 

The  Major  found  himself  on  the  instant  in  the  midst 
of  a  most  interesting  and  confidential  conversation. 
"And  how  is  Arthur  a  flat?  "  he  asked,  with  a  smile. 

'  You  know,"  Foker  answered,  winking  at  him — he 
would  have  winked  at  the  Duke  of  Wellington  with  just 
as  little  scruple.  *  You  know  Arthur's  a  flat, — about 
women,  I  mean." 

"  He  is  not  the  first  of  us,  my  dear  Mr.  Harry,"  an- 
swered the  Major.  '  I  have  heard  something  of  this— 
but  pray  tell  me  more." 

'  Why,  sir,  you  see — it's  partly  my  fault.  We  went 
to  the  play  one  night,  and  Pen  was  struck  all  of  a  heap 
with  Miss  Fotheringay — Costigan  her  real  name  is — an 
uncommon  fine  gal  she  is  too;  and  the  next  morning  I 
introduced  him  to  the  General,  as  we  call  her  father— 
a  regular  old  scamp— and  such  a  boy  for  the  whisky-and- 
water— and  he's  gone  on  being  intimate  there.  And  he's 
fallen  in  love  with  her— and  I'm  blessed  if  he  hasn't  pro- 
posed to  her,"  Foker  said,  slapping  his  hand  on  the  table, 
until  all  the  dessert  began  to  jingle. 

"  What!  you  know  it  too?  "  asked  the  Major. 

"  Know  it!  don't  I?  and  many  more  too.  We  were 
talking  about  it  at  mess,  yesterday,  and  chaffing  Derby 
Oaks— until  he  was  as  mad  as  a  hatter.  Know  Sir  Derby 
Oaks?  We  dined  together,  and  he  went  to  the  play: 
we  were  standing  at  the  door  smoking,  I  remember,  when 
you  passed  in  to  dinner." 


PENDENNIS 


149 


"  I  remember  Sir  Thomas  Oaks,  his  father,  before  he 
was  a  Baronet  or  a  Knight;  he  lived  in  Cavendish 
Square,  and  was  Physician  to  Queen  Charlotte." 


r 

(0 


*  The  young  one  is  making  the  money  spin,  I  can  tell 
you,"  Mr.  Foker  said. 

"  And  is  Sir  Derby  Oaks,"  the  Major  said,  with  great 
delight  and  anxiety,  "  another  soupirant?  " 
"  Another  what ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Foker. 
"  Another  admirer  of  Miss  Fotheringay?  " 
'  Lord  bless  you!  we  call  him  Mondays,  Wednesdays, 
and  Fridays,  and  Pen  Tuesdays,  Thursdays,  and  Satur- 
days.   But  mind  you,  nothing  wrong!    No,  no!    Miss 


150  PENDENNIS 

F.  is  a  deal  too  wide  awake  for  that,  Major  Pendennis. 
She  plays  one  off  against  the  other.  What  you  call  two 
strings  to  her  bow." 

"  I  think  you  seem  tolerably  wide  awake,  too,  Mr. 
Foker,"  Pendennis  said,  laughing. 

"  Pretty  well,  thank  you,  sir — how  are  you?  "  Foker 
replied,  imperturbably.  "I'm  not  clever,  p'raps:  but 
I  am  rather  downy;  and  partial  friends  say  I  know 
what's  o'clock  tolerably  well.  Can  I  tell  you  the  time 
of  day  in  any  way?  " 

"  Upon  my  word,"  the  Major  answered,  quite  de- 
lighted, "  I  think  you  may  be  of  very  great  service  to 
me.  You  are  a  young  man  of  the  world,  and  with  such 
one  likes  to  deal.  And  as  such  I  need  not  inform  you 
that  our  family  is  by  no  means  delighted  at  this  absurd 
intrigue  in  which  Arthur  is  engaged.'* 

"  I  should  rather  think  not,"  said  Mr.  Foker.  "  Con- 
nexion not  eligible.  Too  much  beer  drunk  on  the  prem- 
ises. No  Irish  need  apply.  That  I  take  to  be  your 
meaning." 

The  Major  said  it  was,  exactly:  and  he  proceeded  to 
examine  his  new  acquaintance  regarding  the  amiable 
family  into  which  his  nephew  proposed  to  enter,  and  soon 
got  from  the  candid  witness  a  number  of  particulars 
regarding  the  House  of  Costigan. 

We  must  do  Mr.  Foker  the  justice  to  say  that  he  spoke 
most  favourably  of  Mr.  and  Miss  Costigan's  moral  char- 
acter. '  You  see,"  said  he,  "  I  think  the  General  is  fond 
of  the  jovial  bowl,  and  if  I  wanted  to  be  very  certain 
of  my  money,  it  isn't  in  his  pocket  I'd  invest  it— but 
he  has  always  kept  a  watchful  eye  on  his  daughter,  and 
neither  he  nor  she  will  stand  anything  but  what's  hon- 
ourable. Pen's  attentions  to  her  are  talked  about  in  the 
whole  Company,  and  I  hear  all  about  them  from  a  young 


PENDENNIS  151 

lady  who  used  to  be  very  intimate  with  her,  and  with 
whose  family  I  sometimes  take  tea  in  a  friendly  way. 
Miss  Rouncy  says  Sir  Derby  Oaks  has  been  hanging 
about  Miss  Fotheringay  ever  since  his  regiment  has  been 
down  here ;  but  Pen  has  come  in  and  cut  him  out  lately, 
which  has  made  the  Baronet  so  mad,  that  he  has  been 
very  near  on  the  point  of  proposing  too.  Wish  he  would ; 
and  you'd  see  which  of  the  two  Miss  Fotheringay  would 
jump  at." 

"  I  thought  as  much,"  the  Major  said.  '  You  give 
me  a  great  deal  of  pleasure,  Mr.  Foker.  I  wish  I  could 
have  seen  you  before." 

"  Didn't  like  to  put  in  my  oar,"  replied  the  other. 
"  Don't  speak  till  I'm  asked,  when,  if  there's  no  objec- 
tions, I  speak  pretty  freely.  Heard  your  man  had  been 
hankering  about  my  servant — didn't  know  myself  what 
was  going  on  until  Miss  Fotheringay  and  Miss  Rouncy 
had  the  row  about  the  ostrich  feathers,  when  Miss  R. 
told  me  everything." 

"  Miss  Rouncy,  I  gather,  was  the  confidante  of  the 
other." 

"  Confidant?  I  believe  you.  Why,  she's  twice  as 
clever  a  girl  as  Fotheringay,  and  literary  and  that,  while 
Miss  Foth  can't  do  much  more  than  read." 

"  She  can  write,"  said  the  Major,  remembering  Pen's 
breast-pocket. 

Foker  broke  out  into  a  sardonic  "  He,  he!  Rouncy 
writes  her  letters,"  he  said :  "  every  one  of  'em ;  and  since 
they've  quarrelled,  she  don't  know  how  the  deuce  to  get 
on.  Miss  Rouncy  is  an  uncommon  pretty  hand,  whereas 
the  other  one  makes  dreadful  work  of  the  writing  and 
spelling  when  Bows  ain't  by.  Rouncy's  been  settin'  her 
copies  lately— she  writes  a  beautiful  hand,  Rouncy 
does." 


152  PENDENNIS 

"  I  suppose  you  know  it  pretty  well,"  said  the  Major, 
archly :  upon  which  Mr.  Foker  winked  at  him  again. 

"  I  would  give  a  great  deal  to  have  a  specimen  of  her 
handwriting,"  continued  Major  Pendennis,  "  I  dare  say 
you  could  give  me  one." 

"  That  would  be  too  bad,"  Foker  replied.  "  Miss  F.'s 
writin'  ain't  so  very  bad,  I  dare  say;  only  she  got  Miss 
R.  to  write  the  first  letter,  and  has  gone  on  ever  since. 
But  you  mark  my  word,  that  till  they  are  friends  again 
the  letters  will  stop." 

"  I  hope  they  will  never  be  reconciled,"  the  Major  said 
with  great  sincerity.  '  You  must  feel,  my  dear  sir,  as 
a  man  of  the  world,  how  fatal  to  my  nephew's  prospects 
in  life  is  this  step  which  he  contemplates,  and  how  eager 
we  all  must  be  to  free  him  from  this  absurd  engagement." 

"  He  has  come  out  uncommon  strong,"  said  Mr.  Fo- 
ker; "  I  have  seen  his  verses;  Rouncy  copied  'em.  And 
I  said  to  myself  when  I  saw  'em,  'Catch  me  writin'  verses 
to  a  woman,— that's  all.' ' 

"  He  has  made  a  fool  of  himself,  as  many  a  good  fel- 
low has  before  him.  How  can  we  make  him  see  his  folly, 
and  cure  it?  I  am  sure  you  will  give  us  what  aid  you 
can  in  extricating  a  generous  young  man  from  such  a 
pair  of  schemers  as  this  father  and  daughter  seem  to  be. 
Love  on  the  lady's  side  is  out  of  the  question." 

"  Love,  indeed! "  Foker  said.  "  If  Pen  hadn't  two 
thousand  a-year  when  he  came  of  age— 

;<  If  Pen  hadn't  what?  "  cried  out  the  Major  in  aston- 
ishment. 

'  Two  thousand  a-year:  hasn't  he  got  two  thousand 
a-year?— the  General  says  he  has." 

"  My  dear  friend,"  shrieked  out  the  Major,  with  an 
eagerness  which  this  gentleman  rarely  showed,  "  thank 


PENDENNIS  153 

you— thank  you!— I  begin  to  see  now.— Two  thousand 
a-year !    Why,  his  mother  has  but  five  hundred  a-year  in 
the  world.— She  is  likely  to  live  to  eighty,  and  Arthur 
has  not  a  shilling  but  what  she  can  allow  him." 
"  What!  he  ain't  rich,  then?  "  Foker  asked. 
"  Upon  my  honour  he  has  no  more  than  what  I  say." 
"  And  you  ain't  going  to  leave  him  anything?  " 
The  Major  had  sunk  every  shilling  he  could  scrape 
together  on  annuity,  and  of  course  was  going  to  leave 
Pen  nothing ;   but  he  did  not  tell  Foker  this.     "  How 
much  do  you  think  a  Major  on  half -pay  can  save?  "  he 
asked.    "  If  these  people  have  been  looking  at  him  as  a 
fortune,  they  are  utterly  mistaken — and — and  you  have 
made  me  the  happiest  man  in  the  world." 

"  Sir  to  YOU,"  said  Mr.  Foker,  politely,  and  when  they 
parted  for  the  night  they  shook  hands  with  the  greatest 
cordiality;  the  younger  gentleman  promising  the  elder 
not  to  leave  Chatteris  without  a  further  conversation  in 
the  morning.  And  as  the  Major  went  up  to  his  room, 
and  Mr.  Foker  smoked  his  cigar  against  the  door  pil- 
lars of  the  George,  Pen,  very  likely,  ten  miles  off,  was 
lying  in  bed  kissing  the  letter  from  his  Emily. 

The  next  morning  before  Mr.  Foker  drove  off  in  his 
drag,  the  insinuating  Major  had  actually  got  a  letter  of 
Miss  Rouncy's  in  his  own  pocket-book.  Let  it  be  a  les- 
son to  women  how  they  write.  And  in  very  high  spirits 
Major  Pendennis  went  to  call  upon  Doctor  Portman  at 
the  Deanery,  and  told  him  what  happy  discoveries  he 
had  made  on  the  previous  night.  As  they  sate  in  con- 
fidential conversation  in  the  Dean's  oak  breakfast  par- 
lour they  could  look  across  the  lawn  and  see  Captain 
Costigan's  window,  at  which  poor  Pen  had  been  only  too 
visible  some  three  weeks  since.  .  The  Doctor  was  most 


154  PENDENNIS 

indignant  against  Mrs.  Creed,  the  landlady,  for  her  du- 
plicity, in  concealing  Sir  Derby  Oaks's  constant  visits 
to  her  lodgers,  and  threatened  to  excommunicate  her  out 
of  the  Cathedral.  But  the  wary  Major  thought  that 
all  things  were  for  the  best ;  and,  having  taken  counsel 
with  himself  over  night,  felt  himself  quite  strong  enough 
to  go  and  face  Captain  Costigan. 

"  I'm  going  to  fight  the  dragon,"  he  said,  with  a 
laugh,  to  Doctor  Portman. 

"  And  I  shrive  you,  sir,  and  bid  good  fortune  go  with 
you,"  answered  the  Doctor.  Perhaps  he  and  Mrs.  Port- 
man and  Miss  Mira,  as  they  sate  with  their  friend,  the 
Dean's  lady,  in  her  drawing-room,  looked  up  more  than 
once  at  the  enemy's  window  to  see  if  they  could  perceive 
any  signs  of  the  combat. 

The  Major  walked  round,  according  to  the  directions 
given  him,  and  soon  found  Mrs.  Creed's  little  door.  He 
passed  it,  and  as  he  ascended  to  Captain  Costigan's 
apartment,  he  could  hear  a  stamping  of  feet,  and  a  great 
shouting  of  "  Ha,  ha!  "  within. 

"  It's  Sir  Derby  Oaks  taking  his  fencing  lesson,"  said 
the  child,  who  piloted  Major  Pendennis.  "  He  takes  it 
Mondays,  Wednesdays,  and  Fridays." 

The  Major  knocked,  and  at  length  a  tall  gentleman 
came  forth,  with  a  foil  and  mask  in  one  hand,  and  a 
fencing  glove  on  the  other. 

Pendennis  made  him  a  deferential  bow.     "  I  believe 
I  have  the  honour  of  speaking  to  Captain  Costigan— 
My  name  is  Major  Pendennis." 

The  Captain  brought  his  weapon  up  to  the  salute,  and 
said,  "Major,  the  honer  is  moine;  I'm  deloighted  to 
see  ye." 


The  General's  Salutation 
of  the  Major 


CHAPTER  XI 


NEGOTIATION 


Major  and  Captain  Cos- 
tigan  were  old  soldiers  and  ac- 
customed to  face  the  enemy, 
so  we  may  presume  that  they 
retained  their  presence  of 
mind  perfectly:  but  the  rest 
of  the  party  assembled  in 
Cos's  sitting-room  were,  per- 
haps, a  little  flurried  at  Pen- 
dennis's  apparition.  Miss 
Fotheringay's  slow  heart  began  to  beat  no  doubt,  for 
her  cheek  flushed  up  with  a  great  healthy  blush,  as  Lieu- 
tenant Sir  Derby  Oaks  looked  at  her  with  a  scowl.  The 
little  crooked  old  man  in  the  window-seat,  who  had  been 
witnessing  the  fencing-match  between  the  two  gentle- 
men (whose  stamping  and  jumping  had  been  such  as 
to  cause  him  to  give  up  all  attempts  to  continue  writing 
the  theatre  music,  in  the  copying  of  which  he  had  been 
engaged)  looked  up  eagerly  towards  the  new  comer  as 
the  Major  of  the  well-blacked  boots  entered  the  apart- 
ment, distributing  the  most  graceful  bows  to  everybody 
present. 

"  Me  daughter  —  me  friend,  Mr.  Bows  —  me  gallant 
young  pupil  and  friend,  I  may  call  'um,  Sir  Derby 
Oaks,"  said  Costigan,  splendidly  waving  his  hand,  and 
pointing  each  of  these  individuals  to  the  Major's  at- 

155 


156  PENDENNIS 

tention.  "  In  one  moment,  Meejor,  I'm  your  humble 
servant,"  and  to  dash  into  the  little  adjoining  chamber 
where  he  slept,  to  give  a  twist  to  his  lank  hair  with  his 
hair-brush  (a  wonderful  and  ancient  piece),  to  tear  off 
his  old  stock  and  put  on  a  new  one  which  Emily  had 
constructed  for  him,  and  to  assume  a  handsome  clean 
collar,  and  the  new  coat  which  had  been  ordered  upon 
the  occasion  of  Miss  Fotheringay's  benefit,  was  with  the 
still  active  Costigan  the  work  of  a  minute. 

After  him  Sir  Derby  entered,  and  presently  emerged 
from  the  same  apartment,  where  he  also  cased  himself 
in  his  little  shell- jacket,  which  fitted  tightly  upon  the 
young  officer's  big  person;  and  which  he  and  Miss 
Fotheringay,  and  poor  Pen  too,  perhaps,  admired  pro- 
digiously. 

Meanwhile  conversation  was  engaged  in  between  the 
actress  and  the  new  comer ;  and  the  usual  remarks  about 
the  weather  had  been  interchanged  before  Costigan  re- 
entered  in  his  new  "  shoot,"  as  he  called  it. 

"  I  needn't  apologoise  to  ye,  Meejor,"  he  said,  in  his 
richest  and  most  courteous  manner,  "  for  receiving  ye 
in  me  shirt-sleeves." 

"  An  old  soldier  can't  be  better  employed  than  in 
teaching  a  young  one  the  use  of  his  sword,"  answered  the 
Major,  gallantly.  "  I  remember  in  old  times  hearing 
that  you  could  use  yours  pretty  well,  Captain  Costigan." 

"  What,  ye've  heard  of  Jack  Costigan,  Major,"  said 
the  other,  greatly. 

The  Major  had,  indeed;  he  had  pumped  his  nephew 
concerning  his  new  friend,  the  Irish  officer;  and  said 
that  he  perfectly  well  recollected  meeting  Mr.  Costigan, 
and  hearing  him  sing  at  Sir  Richard  Strachan's  table 
at  Walcheren. 


PENDENNIS  157 

At  this  information,  and  the  bland  and  cordial  manner 
in  which  it  was  conveyed,  Bows  looked  up,  entirely  puz- 
zled. "  But  we  will  talk  of  these  matters  another  time," 
the  Major  continued,  perhaps  not  wishing  to  commit 
himself;  "  it  is  to  Miss  Fotheringay  that  I  came  to  pay 
my  respects  to-day:"  and  he  performed  another  bow 
for  her,  so  courtly  and  gracious,  that  if  she  had  been  a 
duchess  he  could  not  have  made  it  more  handsome. 

"  I  had  heard  of  your  performances  from  my  nephew, 
madam,"  the  Major  said,  "  who  raves  about  you,  as  I 
believe  you  know  pretty  well.  But  Arthur  is  but  a  boy, 
and  a  wild  enthusiastic  young  fellow,  whose  opinions 
one  must  not  take  au  pied  de  la  lettre;  and  I  confess  I 
was  anxious  to  judge  for  myself.  Permit  me  to  say  your 
performance  delighted  and  astonished  me.  I  have  seen 
our  best  actresses,  and,  on  my  word,  I  think  you  surpass 
them  all.  You  are  as  majestic  as  Mrs.  Siddons." 

"  Faith,  I  always  said  so,"  Costigan  said,  winking  at 
his  daughter:  "Major,  take  a  chair."  Milly  rose  at 
this  hint,  took  an  unripped  satin  garment  off  the  only 
vacant  seat,  and  brought  the  latter  to  Major  Pendennis 
with  one  of  her  finest  curtseys. 

'  You  are  as  pathetic  as  Miss  O'Neill,"  he  continued, 
bowing  and  seating  himself;  "  your  snatches  of  song  re- 
mind me  of  Mrs.  Jordan  in  her  best  time,  when  we  were 
young  men,  Captain  Costigan;  and  your  manner  re- 
minded me  of  Mars.  Did  you  ever  see  the  Mars,  Miss 
Fotheringay?  " 

'  There  was  two  Mahers  in  Crow  Street,"  remarked 
Miss  Emily:  "Fanny  was  well  enough,  but  Biddy  was 
no  great  things." 

"  Sure,  the  Major  means  the  god  of  war,  Milly,  my 
dear,"  interposed  the  parent. 


158  PENDENNIS 

"  It  is  not  that  Mars  I  meant,  though  Venus,  I  sup- 
pose, may  be  pardoned  for  thinking  about  him ;  "  the 
Major  replied  with  a  smile  directed  in  full  to  Sir  Derby 
Oaks,  who  now  re-entered  in  his  shell- jacket,  but  the 
lady  did  not  understand  the  words  of  which  he  made 
use,  not  did  the  compliment  at  all  pacify  Sir  Derby, 
who,  probably,  did  not  understand  it  either,  and  at  any 
rate  received  it  with  great  sulkiness  and  stiffness ;  scowl- 
ing uneasily  at  Miss  Fotheringay,  with  an  expression 
which  seemed  to  ask  what  the  deuce  does  this  man  here? 

Major  Pendennis  was  not  in  the  least  annoyed  by 
the  gentleman's  ill-humour.  On  the  contrary,  it  de- 
lighted him.  "  So,"  thought  he,  "  a  rival  is  in  the  field;  " 
and  he  offered  up  vows  that  Sir  Derby  might  be,  not 
only  a  rival,  but  a  winner  too,  in  this  love-match  in  which 
he  and  Pen  were  engaged. 

"  I  fear  I  interrupted  your  fencing  lesson ;  but  my 
stay  in  Chatteris  is  very  short,  and  I  was  anxious  to 
make  myself  known  to  my  old  fellow-campaigner  Cap- 
tain Costigan,  and  to  see  a  lady  nearer  who  had  charmed 
me  so  much  from  the  stage.  I  was  not  the  only  man 
cpris  last  night,  Miss  Fotheringay  (if  I  must  call  you 
so,  though  your  own  family  name  is  a  very  ancient  and 
noble  one ) .  There  was  a  reverend  friend  of  mine,  who 
went  home  in  raptures  with  Ophelia;  and  I  saw  Sir 
Derby  Oaks  fling  a  bouquet  which  no  actress  ever  mer- 
ited better.  I  should  have  brought  one  myself,  had  I 
known  what  I  was  going  to  see.  Are  not  those  the  very 
flowers  in  a  glass  of  water  on  the  mantel-piece  yonder?  " 

"  I  am  very  fond  of  flowers,"  said  Miss  Fotheringay, 
with  a  languishing  ogle  at  Sir  Derby  Oaks— but  the 
Baronet  still  scowled  sulkily. 

"  Sweets  to  the  sweet— isn't  that  the  expression  of  the 


PENDENNIS 


159 


play? "  Major  Pendennis  asked,  bent  upon  being  good- 
humoured. 

"  'Pon  my  life,  I  don't  know.    Very  likely  it  is.     I 
ain't  much  of  a  literary  man,"  answered  Sir  Derby. 


"  Is  it  possible?  "  the  Major  continued,  with  an  air  of 
surprise.  '  You  don't  inherit  your  father's  love  of  let- 
ters, then,  Sir  Derby?  He  was  a  remarkably  fine 
scholar,  and  I  had  the  honour  of  knowing  him  very 
well." 


160  PENDENNIS 

"  Indeed,"  said  the  other,  and  gave  a  sulky  wag  of 
his  head. 

"  He  saved  my  life,"  continued  Pendennis. 

"  Did  he  now?  "  cried  Miss  Fotheringay,  rolling  her 
eyes  first  upon  the  Major  with  surprise,  then  towards 
Sir  Derby  with  gratitude — but  the  latter  was  proof 
against  those  glances;  and  far  from  appearing  to  be 
pleased  that  the  Apothecary,  his  father,  should  have 
saved  Major  Pendennis's  life,  the  young  man  actually 
looked  as  if  he  wished  the  event  had  turned  the  other 
way. 

"  My  father,  I  believe,  was  a  very  good  doctor,"  the 
young  gentleman  said  by  way  of  reply.  "  I'm  not  in 
that  line  myself.  I  wish  you  good  morning,  sir.  I've 
got  an  appointment— Cos,  bye-bye — Miss  Fotheringay, 
good  morning."  And,  in  spite  of  the  young  lady's 
imploring  looks  and  appealing  smiles,  the  Dragoon 
bowed  stiffly  out  of  the  room,  and  the  clatter  of  his  sabre 
was  heard  as  he  strode  down  the  creaking  stair ;  and  the 
angry  tones  of  his  voice  as  he  cursed  little  Tom  Creed, 
who  was  disporting  in  the  passage,  and  whose  peg-top 
Sir  Derby  kicked  away  with  an  oath  into  the  street. 

The  Major  did  not  smile  in  the  least,  though  he  had 
every  reason  to  be  amused.  "  Monstrous  handsome 
young  man  that — as  fine  a  looking  soldier  as  ever  I  saw," 
he  said  to  Costigan. 

"  A  credit  to  the  army  and  to  human  nature  in  gen- 
eral," answered  Costigan.  "  A  young  man  of  refoined 
manners,  polite  affabilitee,  and  princely  fortune.  His 
table  is  sumptuous:  he's  adawr'd  in  the  regiment:  and 
he  rides  sixteen  stone." 

"  A  perfect  champion,"  said  the  Major,  laughing. 
"  I  have  no  doubt  all  the  ladies  admire  him." 


PENDENNIS  161 

"  He's  very  well,  in  spite  of  his  weight,  now  he's 
young,"  said  Milly;  "but  he's  no  conversation." 

"  He's  best  on  horseback,"  Mr.  Bows  said;  on  which 
Milly  replied,  that  the  Baronet  had  ridden  third  in  the 
steeple-chase  on  his  horse  Tareaways,  and  the  Major 
began  to  comprehend  that  the  young  lady  herself  was 
not  of  a  particular  genius,  and  to  wonder  how  she  should 
be  so  stupid  and  act  so  well. 

Costigan,  with  Irish  hospitality,  of  course  pressed  re- 
freshment upon  his  guest:  and  the  Major,  who  was  no 
more  hungry  than  you  are  after  a  Lord  Mayor's  dinner, 
declared  that  he  should  like  a  biscuit  and  a  glass  of  wine 
above  all  things,  as  he  felt  quite  faint  from  long  fasting 
— but  he  knew  that  to  receive  small  kindnesses  flatters 
the  donors  very  much,  and  that  people  must  needs  grow 
well  disposed  towards  you  as  they  give  you  their  hos- 
pitality. 

"  Some  of  the  old  Madara,  Milly,  love,"  Costigan 
said,  winking  to  his  child — and  that  lady,  turning  to 
her  father  a  glance  of  intelligence,  went  out  of  the  room, 
and  down  the  stair,  where  she  softly  summoned  her  little 
emissary  Master  Tommy  Creed :  and  giving  him  a  piece 
of  money,  ordered  him  to  go  buy  a  pint  of  Madara  wine 
at  the  Grapes,  and  sixpennyworth  of  sorted  biscuits  at 
the  baker's,  and  to  return  in  a  hurry,  when  he  might 
have  two  biscuits  for  himself. 

Whilst  Tommy  Creed  was  gone  on  this  errand,  Miss 
Costigan  sate  below  with  Mrs.  Creed,  telling  her  land- 
lady how  Mr.  Arthur  Pendennis's  uncle,  the  Major,  was 
above  stairs;  a  nice,  soft-spoken  old  gentleman;  that 
butter  wouldn't  melt  in  his  mouth :  and  how  Sir  Derby 
had  gone  out  of  the  room  in  a  rage  of  jealousy,  and 
thinking  what  must  be  done  to  pacify  both  of  them. 


162  PENDENNIS 

"  She  keeps  the  keys  of  the  cellar,  Major,"  said  Mr. 
Costigan,  as  the  girl  left  the  room. 

"  Upon  my  word  you  have  a  very  beautiful  butler," 
answered  Pendennis,  gallantly,  "  and  I  don't  wonder  at 
the  young  fellows  raving  about  her.  When  we  were 
of  their  age,  Captain  Costigan,  I  think  plainer  women 
would  have  done  our  business." 

"  Faith,  and  ye  may  say  that,  sir — and  lucky  is  the 
man  who  gets  her.  Ask  me  friend  Bob  Bows  here 
whether  Miss  Fotheringay's  moind  is  not  even  shupa- 
rior  to  her  person,  and  whether  she  does  not  possess  a 
cultiveated  intellect,  a  refoined  understanding,  and  an 
emiable  disposition." 

"  O,  of  course,"  said  Mr.  Bows,  rather  drily.  "  Here 
comes  Hebe  blushing  from  the  cellar.  Don't  you  think 
it  is  time  to  go  to  rehearsal,  Miss  Hebe?  You  will  be 
fined  if  you  are  late  "  —and  he  gave  the  young  lady  a 
look,  which  intimated  that  they  had  much  better  leave 
the  room  and  the  two  elders  together. 

At  this  order  Miss  Hebe  took  up  her  bonnet  and 
shawl,  looking  uncommonly  pretty,  good-humoured,  and 
smiling:  and  Bows  gathered  up  his  roll  of  papers,  and 
hobbled  across  the  room  for  his  hat  and  cane. 

"  Must  you  go?  "  said  the  Major.  "  Can't  you  give 
us  a  few  minutes  more,  Miss  Fotheringay?  Before  you 
leave  us,  permit  an  old  fellow  to  shake  you  by  the  hand, 
and  believe  that  I  am  proud  to  have  had  the  honour  of 
making  your  acquaintance,  and  am  most  sincerely 
anxious  to  be  your  friend." 

Miss  Fotheringay  made  a  low  curtsey  at  the  conclu- 
sion of  this  gallant  speech,  and  the  Major  followed  her 
retreating  steps  to  the  door,  where  he  squeezed  her  hand 
with  the  kindest  and  most  paternal  pressure.  Bows  was 
puzzled  with  this  exhibition  of  cordiality:  "  The  lad's 


PENDENNIS  163 

relatives  can't  be  really  wanting  to  marry  him  to  her," 
he  thought— and  so  they  departed. 

"  Now  for  it,"  thought  Major  Pendennis;  and  as  for 
Mr.  Costigan  he  profited  instantaneously  by  his  daugh- 
ter's absence  to  drink  up  the  rest  of  the  wine ;  and  tossed 
off  one  bumper  after  another  of  the  Madeira  from  the 
Grapes,  with  an  eager  shaking  hand.  The  Major  came 
up  to  the  table,  and  took  up  his  glass  and  drained  it  with 
a  jovial  smack.  If  it  had  been  Lord  Steyne's  particu- 
lar, and  not  public-house  Cape,  ,he  could  not  have  ap- 
peared to  relish  it  more. 

"  Capital  Madeira,  Captain  Costigan,"  he  said. 
'  Where  do  you  get  it?  I  drink  the  health  of  that 
charming  creature  in  a  bumper.  Faith,  Captain,  I  don't 
wonder  that  the  men  are  wild  about  her.  I  never  saw 
such  eyes  in  my  life,  or  such  a  grand  manner.  I  am  sure 
she  is  as  intellectual  as  she  is  beautiful;  and  I  have  no 
doubt  she's  as  good  as  she  is  clever." 

"  A  good  girl,  sir,— a  good  girl,  sir,"  said  the  delighted 
father;  "  and  I  pledge  a  toast  to  her  with  all  my  heart. 
Shall  I  send  to  the— to  the  cellar  for  another  pint?  It's 
handy  by.  No?  Well,  indeed,  sir,  ye  may  say  she  is  a 
good  girl,  and  the  pride  and  glory  of  her  father— honest 
old  Jack  Costigan.  The  man  who  gets  her  will  have  a 
jew'l  to  a  wife,  sir;  and  I  drink  his  health,  sir,  and  ye 
know  who  I  mean,  Major." 

"  I  am  not  surprised  at  young  or  old  falling  in  love 
with  her,"  said  the  Major,  "  and  frankly  must  tell  you, 
that  though  I  was  very  angry  with  my  poor  nephew  Ar- 
thur, when  I  heard  of  the  boy's  passion— now  I  have  seen 
the  lady  I  can  pardon  him  any  extent  of  it.  By  George, 
I  should  like  to  enter  for  the  race  myself,  if  I  weren't  an 
old  fellow  and  a  poor  one." 

"  And  no  better  man,  Major,  I'm  sure,"  cried  Jack, 


164  PENDENNIS 

enraptured.  '  Your  friendship,  sir,  delights  me.  Your 
admiration  for  my  girl  brings  tears  to  me  eyes — tears, 
sir— manlee  tears — and  when  she  leaves  me  humble  home 
for  your  own  more  splendid  mansion,  I  hope  she'll  keep 
a  place  for  her  poor  old  father,  poor  old  Jack  Costigan." 
— The  Captain  suited  the  action  to  the  word,  and  his 
blood-shot  eyes  were  suffused  with  water,  as  he  addressed 
the  Major. 

"  Your  sentiments  do  you  honour,"  the  other  said. 
"  But,  Captain  Costigan,  I  can't  help  smiling  at  one 
thing  you  have  just  said." 

"  And  what's  that,  sir?  "  asked  Jack,  who  was  at  a  too 
heroic  and  sentimental  pitch  to  descend  from  it. 

'  You  were  speaking  about  our  splendid  mansion — 
my  sister's  house,  I  mean." 

"  I  mane  the  park  and  mansion  of  Arthur  Pendennis, 
Esquire,  of  Fairoaks  Park,  whom  I  hope  to  see  a  Mim- 
ber  of  Parliament  for  his  native  town  of  Clavering,  when 
he  is  of  ege  to  take  that  responsible  stetion,"  cried  the 
Captain  with  much  dignity. 

The  Major  smiled.  "  Fairoaks  Park,  my  dear  sirl " 
he  said.  "  Do  you  know  our  history?  We  are  of  exces- 
sively ancient  family  certainly,  but  I  began  life  with 
scarce  enough  money  to  purchase  my  commission,  and 
my  eldest  brother  was  a  country  apothecary :  who  made 
every  shilling  he  died  possessed  of  out  of  his  pestle  and 
mortar." 

"  I  have  consented  to  waive  that  objection,  sir,"  said 
Costigan  majestically,  "in  consideration  of  the  known 
respectability  of  your  family." 

"Curse  your  impudence,"  thought  the  Major;  but 
he  only  smiled  and  bowed. 

'  The  Costigans,  too,  have  met  with  misfortunes ;  and 


PENDENNIS  165 

our  house  of  Castle  Costigan  is  by  no  manes  what  it  was. 
I  have  known  very  honest  men  apothecaries,  sir,  and 
there's  some  in  Dublin  that  has  had  the  honour  of  dining 
at  the  Lord  Leftenant's  teeble." 

'  You  are  very  kind  to  give  us  the  benefit  of  your 
charity,"  the  Major  continued:  "  but  permit  me  to  say 
that  is  not  the  question.  You  spoke  just  now  of  my 
little  nephew  as  heir  of  Fairoaks  Park,  and  I  don't  know 
what  besides." 

"  Funded  property,  I've  no  doubt,  Meejor,  and  some- 
thing handsome  eventually  from  yourself." 

"  My  good  sir,  I  tell  you  the  boy  is  the  son  of  a  coun- 
try apothecary,"  cried  out  Major  Pendennis;  "  and  that 
when  he  comes  of  age  he  won't  have  a  shilling." 

"  Pooh,  Major,  you're  laughing  at  me,"  said  Mr.  Cos- 
tigan, "  me  young  friend,  I  make  no  doubt,  is  heir  to  two 
thousand  pounds  a-year." 

"  Two  thousand  fiddlesticks!  I  beg  your  pardon,  my 
dear  sir;  but  has  the  boy  been  humbugging  you? — it  is 
not  his  habit.  Upon  my  word  and  honour,  as  a  gentle- 
man and  an  executor  to  my  brother's  will  too,  he  left  lit- 
tle more  than  five  hundred  a-year  behind  him." 

"  And  with  aconomy,  a  handsome  sum  of  money  too, 
sir,"  the  Captain  answered.  "  Faith,  I've  known  a  man 
drink  his  clar't,  and  drive  his  coach-and-f  our,  on  five  hun- 
dred a-year  and  strict  aconomy,  in  Ireland,  sir.  We'll 
manage  on  it,  sir— trust  Jack  Costigan  for  that." 

"My  dear  Captain  Costigan— I  give  you  my  word 
that  my  brother  did  not  leave  a  shilling  to  his  son 
Arthur." 

"  Are  ye  joking  with  me,  Meejor  Pendennis?  "  cried 
Jack  Costigan.  "  Are  ye  thrifling  with  the  feelings  of 
a  father  and  a  gentleman?  " 


166  PENDENNIS 

"  I  am  telling  you  the  honest  truth,"  said  Major  Pen- 
dennis.  "  Every  shilling  my  brother  had,  he  left  to  his 
widow:  with  a  partial  reversion,  it  is  true,  to  the  boy. 
But  she  is  a  young  woman,  and  may  marry  if  he  offends 
her— or  she  may  outlive  him,  for  she  comes  of  an  un- 
commonly long-lived  family.  And  I  ask  you,  as  a  gen- 
tleman and  a  man  of  the  world,  what  allowance  can  my 
sister,  Mrs.  Pendennis,  make  to  her  son  out  of  five  hun- 
dred a-year,  which  is  all  her  fortune— that  shall  enable 
him  to  maintain  himself  and  your  daughter  in  the  rank 
befitting  such  an  accomplished  young  lady? " 

"  Am  I  to  understand,  sir,  that  the  young  gentleman, 
your  nephew,  and  whom  I  have  fosthered  and  cherished 
as  the  son  of  me  bosom,  is  an  imposther  who  has  been 
thrifling  with  the  affections  of  me  beloved  child?"  ex- 
claimed the  General,  with  an  outbreak  of  wrath.  "  Have 
a  care,  sir,  how  you  thrifle  with  the  honour  of  John  Cos- 
tigan.  If  I  thought  any  mortal  man  meant  to  do  so,  be 
heavens  I'd  have  his  blood,  sir— were  he  old  or  young." 

"  Mr.  Costigan!  "  cried  out  the  Major. 

"  Mr.  Costigan  can  protect  his  own  and  his  daughter's 
honour,  and  will,  sir,"  said  the  other.  "  Look  at  that 
chest  of  dthrawers,  it  contains  heaps  of  letthers  that  that 
viper  has  addressed  to  that  innocent  child.  There's 
promises  there,  sir,  enough  to  fill  a  band-box  with ;  and 
when  I  have  dragged  the  scoundthrel  before  the  Courts 
of  Law,  and  shown  up  his  perjury  and  his  dishonour,  I 
have  another  remedy  in  yondther  mahogany  case,  sir, 
which  shall  set  me  right,  sir,  with  any  individual— ye 
mark  me  words,  Major  Pendennis— with  any  individual 
who  has  counselled  your  nephew  to  insult  a  soldier  and  a 
gentleman.  What?  Me  daughter  to  be  jilted,  and  me 
gray  hairs  dishonoured  by  an  apothecary's  son!  By  the 


PENDENNIS  167 

laws  of  Heaven,  sir,  I  should  like  to  see  the  man  that 
shall  do  it." 

"  I  am  to  understand  then  that  you  threaten  in  the 
first  place  to  publish  the  letters  of  a  boy  of  eighteen  to  a 
woman  of  eight-and-twenty :  and  afterwards  to  do  me 
the  honour  of  calling  me  out,"  the  Major  said,  still  with 
perfect  coolness. 

'  You  have  described  my  intentions  with  perfect  ac- 
curacy, Meejor  Pendennis,"  answered  the  Captain,  as 
he  pulled  his  ragged  whiskers  over  his  chin. 

"  Well,  well;  these  shall  be  the  subjects  of  future  ar- 
rangements, but  before  we  come  to  powder  and  ball,  my 
good  sir, — do  have  the  kindness  to  think  with  yourself 
in  what  earthly  way  I  have  injured  you?  I  have  told 
you  that  my  nephew  is  dependent  upon  his  mother,  who 
has  scarcely  more  than  five  hundred  a-year." 

"  I  have  my  own  opinion  of  the  correctness  of  that 
assertion,"  said  the  Captain. 

'  Will  you  go  to  my  sister's  lawyers,  Messrs.  Tatham 
here,  and  satisfy  yourself? " 

"  I  decline  to  meet  those  gentlemen,"  said  the  Captain, 
with  rather  a  disturbed  air.  "  If  it  be  as  you  say,  I  have 
been  athrociously  deceived  by  some  one,  and  on  that 
person  I'll  be  revenged." 

"  Is  it  my  nephew?  "  cried  the  Major,  starting  up  and 
putting  on  his  hat.  "  Did  he  ever  tell  you  that  his  prop- 
erty was  two  thousand  a-year?  If  he  did,  I'm  mistaken 
in  the  boy.  To  tell  lies  has  not  been  a  habit  in  our 
family,  Mr.  Costigan,  and  I  don't  think  my  brother's 
son  has  learned  it  as  yet.  Try  and  consider  whether  you 
have  not  deceived  yourself;  or  adopted  extravagant  re- 
ports from  hearsay.  As  for  me,  sir,  you  are  at  liberty 
to  understand  that  I  am  not  afraid  of  all  the  Costigans 


168  PENDENNIS 

in  Ireland,  and  know  quite  well  how  to  defend  myself 
against  any  threats  from  any  quarter.  I  come  here  as 
the  boy's  guardian  to  protest  against  a  marriage,  most 
absurd  and  unequal,  that  cannot  but  bring  poverty  and 
misery  with  it:  and  in  preventing  it  I  conceive  I  am 
quite  as  much  your  daughter's  friend  (who  I  have  no 
doubt  is  an  honourable  young  lady),  as  the  friend  of 
my  own  family:  and  prevent  the  marriage  I  will,  sir, 
by  every  means  in  my  power.  There,  I  have  said  my 
say,  sir." 

"  But  I  have  not  said  mine,  Major  Pendennis— and 
ye  shall  hear  more  from  me,"  Mr.  Costigan  said,  with 
a  look  of  tremendous  severity. 

'  'Sdeath,  sir,  what  do  you  mean?  "  the  Major  asked, 
turning  round  on  the  threshold  of  the  door,  and  looking 
the  intrepid  Costigan  in  the  face. 

*  Ye  said,  in  the  course  of  conversation,  that  ye  were 
at  the  George  Hotel,  I  think,"  Mr.  Costigan  said  in  a 
stately  manner.  "  A  friend  shall  wait  upon  ye  there 
before  ye  leave  town,  sir." 

"  Let  him  make  haste,  Mr.  Costigan,"  cried  out  the 
Major,  almost  beside  himself  with  rage.  "  I  wish  you 
a  good  morning,  sir."  And  Captain  Costigan  bowed 
a  magnificent  bow  of  defiance  to  Major  Pendennis 
over  the  landing-place  as  the  latter  retreated  down  the 
stairs. 


CHAPTER  XII 


IN   WHICH  A  SHOOTING  MATCH  IS   PROPOSED 

ARLY  mention  has 
been  made  in  this  his- 
tory of  Mr.  Garbetts, 
Principal  Tragedian, 
a  promising  and  ath- 
letic young  actor,  of 
jovial  habits  and  ir- 
regular inclinations, 
between  whom  and 
Mr.  Costigan  there 
was  a  considerable  in- 
timacy. They  were 
the  chief  ornaments 
of  the  convivial  club 
held  at  the  Magpie 
Hotel ;  they  helped 
each  other  in  various 
bill  transactions  in  which  they  had  been  engaged,  with 
the  mutual  loan  of  each  other's  valuable  signatures. 
They  were  friends,  in  fine ;  and  Mr.  Garbetts  was  called 
in  by  Captain  Costigan  immediately  after  Major  Pen- 
dennis  had  quitted  the  house,  as  a  friend  proper  to  be 
consulted  at  the  actual  juncture.  He  was  a  large  man, 
with  a  loud  voice  and  fierce  aspect,  who  had  the  finest 
legs  of  the  whole  company,  and  could  break  a  poker  in 
mere  sport  across  his  stalwart  arm. 

169 


170  PENDENNIS 

"  Run,  Tommy,"  said  Mr.  Costigan  to  the  little  mes- 
senger, "  and  fetch  Mr.  Garbetts  from  his  lodgings  over 
the  tripe  shop,  ye  know,  and  tell  'em  to  send  two  glasses 
of  whisky  and  water,  hot,  from  the  Grapes."  So 
Tommy  went  his  way;  and  presently  Mr.  Garbetts  and 
the  whisky  came. 

Captain  Costigan  did  not  disclose  to  him  the  whole 
of  the  previous  events,  of  which  the  reader  is  in  posses- 
sion ;  but,  with  the  aid  of  the  spirits  and  water,  he  com- 
posed a  letter  of  a  threatening  nature  to  Major  Pen- 
dennis's  address,  in  which  he  called  upon  that  gentle- 
man to  offer  no  hindrance  to  the  marriage  projected  be- 
tween Mr.  Arthur  Pendennis  and  his  daughter,  Miss 
Fotheringay,  and  to  fix  an  early  day  for  its  celebration : 
or,  in  any  other  case,  to  give  him  the  satisfaction  which 
was  usual  between  gentlemen  of  honour.  And  should 
Major  Pendennis  be  disinclined  to  this  alternative,  the 
Captain  hinted,  that  he  would  force  him  to  accept  it  by 
the  use  of  a  horsewhip,  which  he  should  employ  upon 
the  Major's  person.  The  precise  terms  of  this  letter 
we  cannot  give,  for  reasons  which  shall  be  specified  pres- 
ently; but  it  was,  no  doubt,  couched  in  the  Captain's 
finest  style,  and  sealed  elaborately  with  the  great  silver 
seal  of  the  Costigans— the  only  bit  of  the  family  plate 
which  the  Captain  possessed. 

Garbetts  was  despatched,  then,  with  this  message  and 
letter;  and  bidding  Heaven  bless  'um,  the  General 
squeezed  his  ambassador's  hand,  and  saw  him  depart. 
Then  he  took  down  his  venerable  and  murderous  duel- 
ling-pistols, with  flint  locks,  that  had  done  the  business 
of  many  a  pretty  fellow  in  Dublin:  and  having  ex- 
amined these,  and  seen  that  they  were  in  a  satisfactory 
condition,  he  brought  from  the  drawer  all  Pen's  letters 


PENDENNIS  171 

and  poems  which  he  kept  there,  and  which  he  always 
read  before  he  permitted  his  Emily  to  enjoy  their 
perusal. 

In  a  score  of  minutes  Garbetts  came  back  with  an 
anxious  and  crest-fallen  countenance. 

'  Ye've  seen  'um?  "  the  Captain  said. 

'  Why,  yes,"  said  Garbetts. 

"  And  when  is  it  for?  asked  Costigan,  trying 
the  lock  of  one  of  the  ancient  pistols,  and  bringing 
it  to  a  level  with  his  oi — as  he  called  that  blood-shot 
orb. 

"  When  is  what  for? "  asked  Mr.  Garbetts. 

'  The  meeting,  my  dear  fellow? " 

'  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  mean  mortal  combat, 
Captain?"  Garbetts  said,  aghast. 

'  What  the  devil  else  do  I  mean,  Garbetts?— I  want 
to  shoot  that  man  that  has  tra juiced  me  honor,  or  meself 
dthrop  a  victim  on  the  sod." 

"  D —  if  I  carry  challenges,"  Mr.  Garbetts  replied. 
"  I'm  a  family  man,  Captain,  and  will  have  nothing  to 
do  with  pistols — take  back  your  letter;  "  and,  to  the  sur- 
prise and  indignation  of  Captain  Costigan,  his  emissary 
flung  the  letter  down,  with  its  great  sprawling  super- 
scription and  blotched  seal. 

*  Ye  don't  mean  to  say  ye  saw  'um  and  didn't  give 
'um  the  letter? "  cried  out  the  Captain,  in  a  fury. 

"  I  saw  him,  but  I  could  not  have  speech  with  him, 
Captain,"  said  Mr.  Garbetts. 

"  And  why  the  devil  not?  "  asked  the  other. 

"  There  was  one  there  I  cared  not  to  meet,  nor  would 
you,"  the  tragedian  answered  in  a  sepulchral  voice. 
"  The  minion  Tatham  was  there,  Captain." 

"The    cowardly    scoundthrel  I "     roared     Costigan. 


172  PENDENNIS 

"  He's  frightened,  and  already  going  to  swear  the  peace 
against  me." 

"  I'll  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  fighting,  mark  that," 
the  tragedian  doggedly  said,  "  and  I  wish  I'd  not  seen 
Tatham  neither,  nor  that  bit  of — 

"  Hold  your  tongue !  Bob  Acres.  It's  my  belief  ye're 
no  better  than  a  coward,"  said  Captain  Costigan,  quot- 
ing Sir  Lucius  O'Trigger,  which  character  he  had  per- 
formed with  credit,  both  off  and  on  the  stage,  and  after 
some  more  parley  between  the  couple  they  separated 
in  not  very  good  humour. 

Their  colloquy  has  been  here  condensed,  as  the  reader 
knows  the  main  point  upon  which  it  turned.  But  the 
latter  will  now  see  how  it  is  impossible  to  give  a  correct 
account  of  the  letter  which  the  Captain  wrote  to  Major 
Pendennis,  as  it  was  never  opened  at  all  by  that  gentle- 
man. 

When  Miss  Costigan  came  home  from  rehearsal,  which 
she  did  in  the  company  of  the  faithful  Mr.  Bows,  she 
found  her  father  pacing  up  and  down  .their  apartment 
in  a  great  state  of  agitation,  and  in  the  midst  of  a  pow- 
erful odour  of  spirits  and  water,  which,  as  it  appeared, 
had  not  succeeded  in  pacifying  his  disordered  mind. 
The  Pendennis  papers  were  on  the  table  surrounding 
the  empty  goblets  and  now  useless  teaspoon,  which  had 
served  to  hold  and  mix  the  Captain's  liquor  and  his 
friend's.  As  Emily  entered  he  seized  her  in  his  arms, 
and  cried  out,  "  Prepare  yourself,  me  child,  me  blessed 
child,"  in  a  voice  of  agony,  and  with  eyes  brimful  of 
tears. 

*  Ye're  tipsy  again,  Papa,"  Miss  Fotheringay  said, 
pushing  back  her  sire.  '  Ye  promised  me  ye  wouldn't 
take  spirits  before  dinner." 


PENDENNIS  173 

"  It's  to  forget  me  sorrows,  me  poor  girl,  that  I've 
taken  just  a  drop,"  cried  the  bereaved  father—  "  it's  to 
drown  me  care  that  I  drain  the  bowl." 

'  Your  care  takes  a  deal  of  drowning,  Captain  dear," 
said  Bows,  mimicking  his  friend's  accent;  "what  has 
happened?  Has  that  soft-spoken  gentleman  in  the  wig 
been  vexing  you?  " 

"The  oily  miscreant!  I'll  have  his  blood!"  roared 
Cos.  Miss  Milly,  it  must  be  premised,  had  fled  to  her 
room  out  of  his  embrace,  and  was  taking  off  her  bonnet 
and  shawl  there. 

"  I  thought  he  meant  mischief.  He  was  so  uncom- 
mon civil,"  the  other  said.  '  What  has  he  come  to  say?  " 

"  O  Bows!  He  has  overwhellum'd  me,"  the  Captain 
said.  '  There's  a  hellish  conspiracy  on  foot  against  me 
poor  girl;  and  it's  me  opinion  that  both  them  Penden- 
nises,  nephew  and  uncle,  is  two  infernal  thrators  and 
scoundthrels,  who  should  be  conshumed  from  off  the 
face  of  the  earth." 

"  What  is  it?  What  has  happened?  "  said  Mr.  Bows, 
growing  rather  excited. 

Costigan  then  told  him  the  Major's  statement  that 
the  young  Pendennis  had  not  two  thousand,  nor  two 
hundred  pounds  a-year;  and  expressed  his  fury  that 
he  should  have  permitted  such  an  impostor  to  coax  and 
wheedle  his  innocent  girl,  and  that  he  should  have  nour- 
ished such  a  viper  in  his  own  personal  bosom.  "  I  have 
shaken  the  reptile  from  me,  however,"  said  Costigan; 
"  and  as  for  his  uncle,  I'll  have  such  a  revenge  on  that 
old  man,  as  shall  make  'um  rue  the  day  he  ever  insulted 
a  Costigan." 

'  What  do  you  mean,  General? "  said  Bows. 

"  I  mean  to  have  his  life,  Bows— his  villanous,  skulk- 


174  PENDENNIS 

ing  life,  my  boy;  "  and  he  rapped  upon  the  battered  old 
pistol-case  in  an  ominous  and  savage  manner.  Bows 
had  often  heard  him  appeal  to  that  box  of  death,  with 
which  he  proposed  to  sacrifice  his  enemies ;  but  the  Cap- 
tain did  not  tell  him  that  he  had  actually  written  and 
sent  a  challenge  to  Major  Pendennis,  and  Mr.  Bows 
therefore  rather  disregarded  the  pistols  in  the  present 
instance. 

At  this  juncture  Miss  Fotheringay  returned  to  the 
common  sitting-room  from  her  private  apartment,  look- 
ing perfectly  healthy,  happy,  and  unconcerned,  a  strik- 
ing and  wholesome  contrast  to  her  father,  who  was  in  a 
delirious  tremor  of  grief,  anger,  and  other  agitation. 
She  brought  in  a  pair  of  ex-white  satin  shoes  with  her, 
which  she  proposed  to  rub  as  clean  as  might  be  with 
bread-crumb ;  intending  to  go  mad  with  them  upon  next 
Tuesday  evening  in  Ophelia,  in  which  character  she  was 
to  reappear  on  that  night. 

She  looked  at  the  papers  on  the  table;  stopped  as  if 
she  was  going  to  ask  a  question,  but  thought  better  of 
it,  and  going  to  the  cupboard,  selected  an  eligible  piece 
of  bread  wherewith  she  might  operate  on  the  satin  slip- 
pers: and  afterwards  coming  back  to  the  table,  seated 
herself  there  commodiously  with  the  shoes,  and  then 
asked  her  father,  in  her  honest  Irish  brogue,  "  What 
have  ye  got  them  letthers,  and  pothry,  and  stuff,  of 
Master  Arthur's  out  for,  Pa?  Sure  ye  don't  want  to  be 
reading  over  that  nonsense." 

"  O  Emilee! "  cried  the  Captain,  "  that  boy  whom  I 
loved  as  the  boy  of  mee  bosom  is  only  a  scoundthrel, 
and  a  deceiver,  mee  poor  girl :  "  and  he  looked  in  the 
most  tragical  way  at  Mr.  Bows,  opposite;  who,  in  his 
turn,  gazed  somewhat  anxiously  at  Miss  Costigan. 


PENDENNIS  175 

"  He !  pooh !  Sure  the  poor  lad's  as  simple  as  a  school- 
boy," she  said.  "  All  them  children  write  verses  and 
nonsense." 

"  He's  been  acting  the  part  of  a  viper  to  this  fireside, 
and  a  traitor  in  this  familee,"  cried  the  Captain.  "  I 
tell  ye  he's  no  better  than  an  impostor." 

'What  has  the  poor  fellow  done,  Papa?"  asked 
Emily. 

"  Done?  He  has  deceived  us  in  the  most  athrocious 
manner,"  Miss  Emily's  papa  said.  "  He  has  thrifled 
with  your  affections,  and  outraged  my  own  fine  feelings. 
He  has  represented  himself  as  a  man  of  property,  and 
it  turruns  out  that  he  is  no  betther  than  a  beggar. 
Haven't  I  often  told  ye  he  had  two  thousand  a-year? 
He's  a  pauper,  I  tell  ye,  Miss  Costigan;  a  depindent 
upon  the  bountee  of  his  mother;  a  good  woman,  who 
may  marry  again,  who's  likely  to  live  for  ever,  and  who 
has  but  five  hundred  a-year.  How  dar  he  ask  ye  to 
marry  into  a  family  which  has  not  the  means  of  provid- 
ing for  ye?  Ye've  been  grossly  deceived  and  put  upon, 
Milly,  and  it's  my  belief  his  old  ruffian  of  an  uncle  in 
a  wig  is  in  the  plot  against  us." 

"  That  soft  old  gentleman?  What  has  he  been  doing, 
Papa?  "  continued  Emily,  still  imperturbable. 

Costigan  informed  Milly  that  when  she  was  gone, 
Major  Pendennis  told  him  in  his  double-faced  Pall 
Mall  polite  manner,  that  young  Arthur  had  no  fortune 
at  all,  that  the  Major  had  asked  him  (Costigan)  to 
go  to  the  lawyers  ("  wherein  he  knew  the  scoundthrels 
have  a  bill  of  mine,  and  I  can't  meet  them,"  the 
Captain  parenthetically  remarked),  and  see  the  lad's 
father's  will:  and  finally,  that  an  infernal  swindle  had 
been  practised  upon  him  by  the  pair,  and  that  he  was 


176  PENDENNIS 

resolved  either  on  a  marriage,  or  on  the  blood  of  both 
of  them. 

Milly  looked  very  grave  and  thoughtful,  rubbing  the 
white  satin  shoe.  "  Sure,  if  he's  no  money,  there's  no  use 
marrying  him,  Papa,"  she  said  sententiously. 

"  Why  did  the  villain  say  he  was  a  man  of  prawper- 
tee?  "  asked  Costigan. 

'  The  poor  fellow  always  said  he  was  poor,"  answered 
the  girl.  'Twas  you  who  would  have  it  he  was  rich, 
Papa— and  made  me  agree  to  take  him." 

"  He  should  have  been  explicit  and  told  us  his  income, 
Milly,"  answered  the  father.  "  A  young  fellow  who 
rides  a  blood  mare,  and  makes  presents  of  shawls  and 
bracelets,  is  an  impostor  if  he  has  no  money ;— and  as  for 
his  uncle,  bedad  I'll  pull  off  his  wig  whenever  I  see  'urn. 
Bows,  here,  shall  take  a  message  to  him  and  tell  him  so. 
Either  it's  a  marriage,  or  he  meets  me  in  the  field  like  a 
man,  or  I  tweak  'um  on  the  nose  in  front  of  his  hotel  or 
in  the  gravel  walks  of  Fairoaks  Park  before  all  the 
county,  bedad." 

"  Bedad,  you  may  send  somebody  else  with  the  mes- 
sage," said  Bows,  laughing.  "  I'm  a  fiddler,  not  a  fight- 
ing man,  Captain." 

"  Pooh,  you've  no  spirit,  sir,"  roared  the  General. 
"  I'll  be  my  own  second,  if  no  one  will  stand  by  and  see 
me  injured.  And  I'll  take  my  case  of  pistols  and  shoot 
'um  in  the  Coffee  Room  of  the  George." 

"  And  so  poor  Arthur  has  no  money? "  sighed  out 
Miss  Costigan,  rather  plaintively.  "  Poor  lad,  he  was 
a  good  lad  too:  wild  and  talking  nonsense,  with  his 
verses  and  pothry  and  that,  but  a  brave,  generous  boy, 
and  indeed  I  liked  him— and  he  liked  me  too,"  she  added, 
rather  softly,  and  rubbing  away  at  the  shoe. 


PENDENNIS  177 

'  Why  don't  you  marry  him  if  you  like  him  so?  "  Mr. 
Bows  said,  rather  savagely.  "  He's  not  more  than  ten 
years  younger  than  you  are.  His  mother  may  relent, 
and  you  might  go  and  live  and  have  enough  at  Fairoaks 
Park.  Why  not  go  and  be  a  lady?  I  could  go  on  with 
the  fiddle,  and  the  General  live  on  his  half -pay.  Why 
don't  you  marry  him?  You  know  he  likes  you." 

'  There's  others  that  likes  me  as  well,  Bows,  that  has 
no  money  and  that's  old  enough,"  Miss  Milly  said  sen- 
tentiously. 

"  Yes,  d it,"  said  Bows,  with  a  bitter  curse— 

"  that  are  old  enough  and  poor  enough  and  fools  enough 
for  anything." 

'  There's  old  fools,  and  young  fools  too.  You've 
often  said  so,  you  silly  man,"  the  imperious  beauty  said 
with  a  conscious  glance  at  the  old  gentleman.  "  If  Pen- 
dennis  has  not  enough  money  to  live  upon,  it's  folly  to 
talk  about  marrying  him :  and  that's  the  long  and  short 
of  it." 

"And  the  boy?"  said  Mr.  Bows.  "By  Jove!  you 
throw  a  man  away  like  an  old  glove,  Miss  Costigan." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  Bows,"  said  Miss 
Fotheringay,  placidly,  rubbing  the  second  shoe.  "  If 
he  had  had  half  of  the  two  thousand  a-year  that  Papa 
gave  him,  or  the  half  of  that,  I  would  marry  him.  But 
what  is  the  good  of  taking  on  with  a  beggar?  We're 
poor  enough  already.  There's  no  use  in  my  going  to 
live  with  an  old  lady  that's  testy  and  cross,  maybe,  and 
would  grudge  me  every  morsel  of  meat.  (Sure,  it's 
near  dinner  time,  and  Suky  not  laid  the  cloth  yet. )  And 
then,"  added  Miss  Costigan,  quite  simply,  "  suppose 
there  was  a  family?— why,  Papa,  we  shouldn't  be  as 
well  off  as  we  are  now." 


178  PENDENNIS 

'  'Deed  then,  you  would  not,  Milly  dear,"  answered 
the  father. 

"  And  there's  an  end  to  all  the  fine  talk  about  Mrs. 
Arthur  Pendennis  of  Fairoaks  Park— the  member  of 
Parliament's  lady,"  said  Milly,  with  a  laugh.  "  Pretty 
carriages  and  horses  we  should  have  to  ride! — that  you 
were  always  talking  about,  Papa.  But  it's  always  the 
same.  If  a  man  looked  at  me,  you  fancied  he  was  going 
to  marry  me;  and  if  he  had  a  good  coat,  you  fancied 
he  was  as  rich  as  Crazes." 

"  As  Croesus,"  said  Mr.  Bows. 

'  Well,  call  'um  what  ye  like.  But  it's  a  fact  now  that 
Papa  has  married  me  these  eight  years  a  score  of  times. 
Wasn't  I  to  be  my  Lady  Poldoody  of  Oystherstown 
Castle?  Then  there  was  the  Navy  Captain  at  Ports- 
mouth, and  the  old  surgeon  at  Norwich,  and  the  Metho- 
dist preacher  here  last  year,  and  who  knows  how  many 
more?  Well,  I  bet  a  penny,  with  all  your  scheming, 
I  shall  die  Milly  Costigan  at  last.  So  poor  little  Arthur 
has  no  money?  Stop  and  take  dinner,  Bows:  we've  a 
beautiful  beef -steak  pudding." 

"  I  wonder  whether  she  is  on  with  Sir  Derby  Oaks," 
thought  Bows,  whose  eyes  and  thoughts  were  always 
watching  her.  '  The  dodges  of  women  beat  all  com- 
prehension; and  I  am  sure  she  wouldn't  let  the  lad  off 
so  easily,  if  she  had  not  some  other  scheme  on  hand." 

It  will  have  been  perceived  that  Miss  Fotheringay, 
though  silent  in  general,  and  by  no  means  brilliant  as 
a  conversationist  where  poetry,  literature,  or  the  fine  arts 
were  concerned,  could  talk  freely  and  with  good  sense, 
too,  in  her  own  family  circle.  She  cannot  justly  be  called 
a  romantic  person:  nor  were  her  literary  acquirements 
great :  she  never  opened  a  Shakspeare  from  the  day  she 


PENDENNIS  179 

left  the  stage,  nor,  indeed,  understood  it  during  all  the 
time  she  adorned  the  boards:  but  about  a  pudding,  a 
piece  of  needle-work,  or  her  own  domestic  affairs,  she 
was  as  good  a  judge  as  could  be  found;  and  not  being 
misled  by  a  strong  imagination  or  a  passionate  temper, 
was  better  enabled  to  keep  her  judgment  cool.  When, 
over  their  dinner,  Costigan  tried  to  convince  himself 
and  the  company,  that  the  Major's  statement  regarding 
Pen's  finances  was  unworthy  of  credit,  and  a  mere  ruse 
upon  the  old  hypocrite's  part  so  as  to  induce  them,  on 
their  side,  to  break  off  the  match,  Miss  Milly  would  not, 
for  a  moment,  admit  the  possibility  of  deceit  on  the  side 
of  the  adversary:  and  pointed  out  clearly  that  it  was 
her  father  who  had  deceived  himself,  and  not  poor  little 
Pen  who  had  tried  to  take  them  in.  As  for  that  poor  lad, 
she  said  she  pitied  him  with  all  her  heart.  And  she  ate 
an  exceedingly  good  dinner;  to  the  admiration  of  Mr. 
Bows,  who  had  a  remarkable  regard  and  contempt  for 
this  woman,  during  and  after  which  repast  the  party 
devised  upon  the  best  means  of  bringing  this  love-mat- 
ter to  a  close.  As  for  Costigan,  his  idea  of  tweaking 
the  Major's  nose  vanished  with  his  supply  of  after- 
dinner  whisky-and-water ;  and  he  was  submissive  to  his 
daughter,  and  ready  for  any  plan  on  which  she  might 
decide,  in  order  to  meet  the  crisis  which  she  saw  was  at 
hand. 

The  Captain,  who,  as  long  as  he  had  a  notion  that  he 
was  wronged,  was  eager  to  face  and  demolish  both  Pen 
and  his  uncle,  perhaps  shrank  from  the  idea  of  meeting 
the  former,  and  asked  "  what  the  juice  they  were  to  say 
to  the  lad  if  he  remained  steady  to  his  engagement,  and 
they  broke  from  theirs?  "  '  What?  don't  you  know  how 
to  throw  a  man  over? "  said  Bows;  "  ask  a  woman  to 


180  PENDENNIS 

tell  you; "  and  Miss  Fotheringay  showed  how  this  feat 
was  to  be  done  simply  enough— nothing  was  more  easy. 
"  Papa  writes  to  Arthur  to  know  what  settlements  he 
proposes  to  make  in  event  of  a  marriage ;  and  asks  what 
his  means  are.  Arthur  writes  back  and  says  what  he's 
got,  and  you'll  find  it's  as  the  Major  says,  I'll  go  bail. 
Then  papa  writes,  and  says  it's  not  enough,  and  the 
match  had  best  be  at  an  end." 

"  And,  of  course,  you  enclose  a  parting  line,  in  which 
you  say  you  will  always  regard  him  as  a  brother,"  said 
Mr.  Bows,  eyeing  her  in  his  scornful  way. 

"  Of  course,  and  so  I  shall,"  answered  Miss  Fother- 
ingay. "  He's  a  most  worthy  young  man,  I'm  sure. 
I'll  thank  ye  hand  me  the  salt.  Them  filberts  is  beau- 
tiful." 

"  And  there  will  be  no  noses  pulled,  Cos,  my  boy? 
I'm  sorry  you're  balked,"  said  Mr.  Bows. 

'  'Dad,  I  suppose  not,"  said  Cos,  rubbing  his  own.— 
'  What '11  ye  do  about  them  letters,  and  verses,  and 
pomes,  Milly,  darling? — Yc  must  send  'em  back." 

'  Wigsby  would  give  a  hundred  pound  for  'em," 
Bows  said,  with  a  sneer. 

'  'Deed,  then,  he  would,"  said  Captain  Costigan,  who 
was  easily  led. 

"  Papa!  "  said  Miss  Milly.—"  Ye  wouldn't  be  for  not 
sending  the  poor  boy  his  letters  back  ?  Them  letters  and 
pomes  is  mine.  They  were  very  long,  and  full  of  all 
sorts  of  nonsense,  and  Latin,  and  things  I  couldn't 
understand  the  half  of;  indeed  I've  not  read  'em  all; 
but  we'll  send  'em  back  to  him  when  the  proper  time 
comes."  And  going  to  a  drawer,  Miss  Fotheringay 
took  out  from  it  a  number  of  the  County  Chronicle  and 
Chatteris  Champion,  in  which  Pen  had  written  a  copy 


PENDENNIS  181 

of  flaming  verses  celebrating  her  appearance  in  the  char- 
acter of  Imogen,  and  putting  by  the  leaf  upon  which 
the  poem  appeared  (for,  like  ladies  of  her  profession, 
she  kept  the  favourable  printed  notices  of  her  perform- 
ances), she  wrapped  up  Pen's  letters,  poems,  passions, 
and  fancies,  and  tied  them  with  a  piece  of  string  neatly, 
as  she  would  a  parcel  of  sugar. 

Nor  was  she  in  the  least  moved  while  performing  this 
act.  What  hours  the  boy  had  passed  over  those  papers! 
What  love  and  longing :  what  generous  faith  and  manly 
devotion — what  watchful  nights  and  lonely  fevers  might 
they  tell  of !  She  tied  them  up  like  so  much  grocery,  and 
sate  down  and  made  tea  afterwards  with  a  perfectly 
placid  and  contented  heart:  while  Pen  was  yearning 
after  her  ten  miles  off:  and  hugging  her  image  to  his 
soul. 


CHAPTER  XIII 


A    CRISIS 

AJOR     PENDENNIS 

came  away  from  his  in- 
terview with  Captain 
Costigan  in  a  state  of 
=:  such  concentrated  fury 
as  rendered  him  terri- 
ble to  approach.  *  The 
impudent  bog-trotting 
scamp,"  he  thought, 
^  "  dare  to  threaten  me! 
Dare  to  talk  of  permit- 
=.  ting  his  damned  Costi- 
_  gans  to  marry  with  the 
Pendennises!  Send  me 
a  challenge  1  If  the  fel- 
low can  get  anything  in 
the  shape  of  a  gentleman  to  carry  it,  I  have  the  greatest 
mind  in  life  not  to  balk  him.— Psha!  what  would  people 
say  if  I  were  to  go  out  with  a  tipsy  mountebank,  about 
a  row  with  an  actress  in  a  barn! "  So  when  the  Major 
saw  Dr.  Portman,  who  asked  anxiously  regarding  the 
issue  of  his  battle  with  the  dragon,  Mr.  Pendennis  did 
not  care  to  inform  the  divine  of  the  General's  insolent 
behaviour,  but  stated  that  the  affair  was  a  very  ugly 
and  disagreeable  one,  and  that  it  was  by  no  means  over 
yet. 

182 


PENDENNIS  183 

He  enjoined  Doctor  and  Mrs.  Portman  to  say  nothing 
about  the  business  at  Fairoaks;  and  then  he  returned 
to  his  hotel,  where  he  vented  his  wrath  upon  Mr.  Morgan 
his  valet,  "  dammin'  and  cussin'  up  stairs  and  down 
stairs,"  as  that  gentleman  observed  to  Mr.  Foker's  man, 
in  whose  company  he  partook  of  dinner  in  the  servants' 
room  of  the  George. 

The  servant  carried  the  news  to  his  master;  and  Mr. 
Foker  having  finished  his  breakfast  about  this  time,  it 
being  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  remembered  that  he 
was  anxious  to  know  the  result  of  the  interview  between 
his  two  friends,  and  having  inquired  the  number  of  the 
Major's  sitting-room,  went  over  in  his  brocade  dressing- 
gown,  and  knocked  for  admission. 

The  Major  had  some  business,  as  he  had  stated,  re- 
specting a  lease  of  the  widow's,  about  which  he  was  de- 
sirous of  consulting  old  Mr.  Tatham,  the  lawyer,  who 
had  been  his  brother's  man  of  business,  and  who  had  a 
branch-office  at  Clavering,  where  he  and  his  son  attended 
market  and  other  days  three  or  four  in  the  week.  This 
gentleman  and  his  client  were  now  in  consultation  when 
Mr.  Foker  showed  his  grand  dressing-gown  and  em- 
broidered skull-cap  at  Major  Pendennis's  door. 

Seeing  the  Major  engaged  with  papers  and  red-tape, 
and  an  old  man  with  a  white  head,  the  modest  youth  was 
for  drawing  back — and  said,  "  O,  you're  busy — call 
again  another  time."  But  Mr.  Pendennis  wanted  to 
see  him,  and  begged  him,  with  a  smile,  to  enter:  where- 
upon Mr.  Foker  took  off  the  embroidered  tarboosh  or 
fez  (it  had  been  worked  by  the  fondest  of  mothers)  and 
advanced,  bowing  to  the  gentlemen  and  smiling  on  them 
graciously.  Mr.  Tatham  had  never  seen  so  splendid  an 
apparition  before  as  this  brocaded  youth,  who  seated 


184  PENDENNIS 

himself  in  an  arm-chair,  spreading  out  his  crimson  skirts, 
and  looking  with  exceeding  kindness  and  frankness  on 
the  other  two  tenants  of  the  room.  '  You  seem  to  like 
my  dressing-gown,  sir,"  he  said  to  Mr.  Tatham.  "  A 
pretty  thing,  isn't  it?  Neat,  but  not  in  the  least  gaudy. 
And  how  do  you  do?  Major  Pendennis,  sir,  and  how 
does  the  world  treat  you?  " 

There  was  that  in  Foker's  manner  and  appearance 
which  would  have  put  an  Inquisitor  into  good  humour, 
and  it  smoothed  the  wrinkles  under  Pendennis's  head 
of  hair. 

"  I  have  had  an  interview  with  that  Irishman,  (you 
may  speak  before  my  friend,  Mr.  Tatham  here,  who 
knows  all  the  affairs  of  the  family,)  and  it  has  not,  I 
own,  been  very  satisfactory.  He  won't  believe  that  my 
nephew  is  poor:  he  says  we  are  both  liars:  he  did  me 
the  honour  to  hint  that  I  was  a  coward,  as  I  took  leave. 
And  I  thought  when  you  knocked  at  the  door,  that  you 
might  be  the  gentleman  whom  I  expect  with  a  challenge 
from  Mr.  Costigan— that  is  how  the  world  treats  me, 
Mr.  Foker." 

*  You  don't  mean  that  Irishman,  the  actress's 
father?"  cried  Mr.  Tatham,  who  was  a  dissenter  him- 
self, and  did  not  patronise  the  drama. 

'  That  Irishman,  the  actress's  father— the  very  man. 
Have  not  you  heard  what  a  fool  my  nephew  has  made 
of  himself  about  the  girl?  "  —and  Major  Pendennis  had 
to  recount  the  story  of  his  nephew's  loves  to  the  lawyer, 
Mr.  Foker  coming  in  with  appropriate  comments  in  his 
usual  familiar  language. 

Tatham  was  lost  in  wonder  at  the  narrative.  Why 
had  not  Mrs.  Pendennis  married  a  serious  man,  he 
thought— Mr.  Tatham  was  a  widower— and  kept  this 


PENDENNIS  185 

unfortunate  boy  from  perdition?  As  for  Miss  Costigan, 
he  would  say  nothing:  her  profession  was  sufficient  to 
characterise  her.  Mr.  Foker  here  interposed  to  say  he 
had  known  some  uncommon  good  people  in  the  booths, 
as  he  called  the  Temple  of  the  Muses.  Well,  it  might 
be  so,  Mr.  Tatham  hoped  so — but  the  father,  Tatham 
knew  personally — a  man  of  the  worst  character,  a  wine- 
bibber  and  an  idler  in  taverns  and  billiard-rooms,  and  a 
notorious  insolvent.  "  I  can  understand  the  reason,  Ma- 
jor," he  said,  "  why  the  fellow  would  not  come  to  my 
office  to  ascertain  the  truth  of  the  statements  which  you 
made  him. — We  have  a  writ  out  against  him  and  another 
disreputable  fellow,  one  of  the  play-actors,  for  a  bill 
given  to  Mr.  Skinner  of  this  city,  a  most  respectable 
Grocer  and  Wine  and  Spirit  Merchant,  and  a  Member 
of  the  Society  of  Friends.  This  Costigan  came  crying 
to  Mr.  Skinner, — crying  in  the  shop,  sir, — and  we  have 
not  proceeded  against  him  or  the  other,  as  neither  was 
worth  powder  and  shot." 

It  was  whilst  Mr.  Tatham  was  engaged  in  telling  his 
story  that  a  third  knock  came  to  the  door,  and  there 
entered  an  athletic  gentleman  in  a  shabby  braided  frock, 
bearing  in  his  hand  a  letter  with  a  large  blotched  red 
seal. 

"  Can  I  have  the  honour  of  speaking  with  Major  Pen- 
dennis  in  private?  "  he  began—  "  I  have  a  few  words  for 
your  ear,  sir.  I  am  the  bearer  of  a  mission  from  my 
friend  Captain  Costigan," — but  here  the  man  with 
the  bass  voice  paused,  faltered,  and  turned  pale— he 
caught  sight  of  the  red  and  well-remembered  face  of 
Mr.  Tatham. 

"  Hullo,  Garbetts,  speak  upl "  cried  Mr.  Foker,  de- 
lighted. 


186  PENDENNIS 

'  Why,  bless  my  soul,  it  is  the  other  party  to  the  bill!  " 
said  Mr.  Tatham.  ;<  I  say,  sir;  stop,  I  say."  But  Gar- 
betts,  with  a  face  as  blank  as  Macbeth 's  when  Banquo's 
ghost  appears  upon  him,  gasped  some  inarticulate  words, 
and  fled  out  of  the  room. 

The  Major's  gravity  was  entirely  upset,  and  he  burst 
out  laughing.  So  did  Mr.  Foker,  who  said,  "  By  Jove, 
it  was  a  good  'un."  So  did  the  attorney,  although  by 
profession  a  serious  man. 

"  I  don't  think  there'll  be  any  fight,  Major,"  young 
Foker  said ;  and  began  mimicking  the  tragedian.  "  If 
there  is,  the  old  gentleman— your  name  Tatham?— very 
happy  to  make  your  acquaintance,  Mr.  Tatham — may 
send  the  bailiffs  to  separate  the  men;"  and  Mr.  Tatham 
promised  to  do  so.  The  Major  was  by  no  means 
sorry  at  the  ludicrous  issue  of  the  quarrel.  "  It  seems 
to  me,  sir,"  he  said  to  Mr.  Foker,  "  that  you  always 
arrive  to  put  me  into  good  humour." 

Nor  was  this  the  only  occasion  on  which  Mr.  Foker 
this  day  was  destined  to  be  of  service  to  the  Pendennis 
family.  We  have  said  that  he  had  the  entree  of  Captain 
Costigan's  lodgings,  and  in  the  course  of  the  afternoon 
he  thought  he  would  pay  the  General  a  visit,  and  hear 
from  his  own  lips  what  had  occurred  in  the  conversation, 
in  the  morning,  with  Mr.  Pendennis.  Captain  Costigan 
was  not  at  home.  He  had  received  permission,  nay,  en- 
couragement from  his  daughter,  to  go  to  the  convivial 
club  at  the  Magpie  Hotel,  where  no  doubt  he  was  brag- 
ging at  that  moment  of  his  desire  to  murder  a  certain 
ruffian;  for  he  was  not  only  brave,  but  he  knew  it  too, 
and  liked  to  take  out  his  courage,  and,  as  it  were,  give 
it  an  airing  in  company. 

Costigan  then  was  absent,  but  Miss  Fotheringay  was 


PENDENNIS  187 

at  home  washing  the  tea-cups  whilst  Mr.  Bows  sate  op- 
posite to  her. 

"  Just  done  breakfast,  I  see — how  do? "  said  Mr. 
Foker,  popping  in  his  little  funny  head. 

"  Get  out,  you  funny  little  man,"  cried  Miss  Fother- 
ingay. 

'  You  mean  come  in,"  answered  the  other.—  "  Here 
we  are !  "  and  entering  the  room  he  folded  his  arms  and 
began  twirling  his  head  round  and  round  with  immense 
rapidity,  like  Harlequin  in  the  Pantomime  when  he  first 
issues  from  his  cocoon  or  envelope.  Miss  Fotheringay 
laughed  with  all  her  heart :  a  wink  of  Foker's  would  set 
her  off  laughing,  when  the  bitterest  joke  Bows  ever 
made  could  not  get  a  smile  from  her,  or  the  finest  of 
poor  Pen's  speeches  would  only  puzzle  her.  At  the  end 
of  the  harlequinade  he  sank  down  on  one  knee  and  kissed 
her  hand. 

'  You're  the  drollest  little  man,"  she  said,  and  gave 
him  a  great  good-humoured  slap.  Pen  used  to  tremble 
as  he  kissed  her  hand.  Pen  would  have  died  of  a  slap. 

These  preliminaries  over,  the  three  began  to  talk; 
Mr.  Foker  amused  his  companions  by  recounting  to 
them  the  scene  which  he  had  just  witnessed  of  the  dis- 
comfiture of  Mr.  Garbetts,  by  which  they  learned,  for 
the  first  time,  how  far  the  General  had  carried  his  wrath 
against  Major  Pendennis.  Foker  spoke  strongly  in 
favour  of  the  Major's  character  for  veracity  and  honour, 
and  described  him  as  a  tip-top  swell,  moving  in  the  upper 
circle  of  society,  who  would  never  submit  to  any  deceit 
—much  more  to  deceive  such  a  charming  young  woman 
as  Miss  Foth. 

He  touched  delicately  upon  the  delicate  marriage 
question,  though  he  couldn't  help  showing  that  he  held 


188  PENDENNIS 

Pen  rather  cheap.  In  fact,  he  had  a  perhaps  just  con- 
tempt for  Mr.  Pen's  high-flown  sentimentality ;  his  own 
weakness,  as  he  thought,  not  lying  that  way.  "  I  knew 
it  wouldn't  do,  Miss  Foth,"  said  he,  nodding  his  little 
head.  "  Couldn't  do.  Didn't  like  to  put  my  hand  into 
the  bag,  but  knew  it  couldn't  do.  He's  too  young  for 
you:  too  green:  a  deal  too  green:  and  he  turns  out 
to  be  poor  as  Job.  Can't  have  him  at  no  price,  can  she, 
Mr.  Bo?" 

"  Indeed  he's  a  nice  poor  boy,"  said  the  Fotheringay 
rather  sadly. 

"  Poor  little  beggar,"  said  Bows,  with  his  hands  in 
his  pockets,  and  stealing  up  a  queer  look  at  Miss  Fother- 
ingay. Perhaps  he  thought  and  wondered  at  the  way 
in  which  women  play  with  men,  and  coax  them  and  win 
them  and  drop  them. 

But  Mr.  Bows  had  not  the  least  objection  to  acknow- 
ledge that  he  thought  Miss  Fotheringay  was  perfectly 
right  in  giving  up  Mr.  Arthur  Pendennis,  and  that  in 
his  idea  the  match  was  always  an  absurd  one :  and  Miss 
Costigan  owned  that  she  thought  so  herself,  only  she 
couldn't  send  away  two  thousand  a-year.  "  It  all  comes 
of  believing  Papa's  silly  stories,"  she  said;  "  faith,  I'll 
choose  for  meself  another  time  "  —and  very  likely  the 
large  image  of  Lieutenant  Sir  Derby  Oaks  entered  into 
her  mind  at  that  instant. 

After  praising  Major  Pendennis,  whom  Miss  Costi- 
gan declared  to  be  a  proper  gentleman  entirely,  smell- 
ing of  lavender,  and  as  neat  as  a  pin, — and  who  was 
pronounced  by  Mr.  Bows  to  be  the  right  sort  of  fellow, 
though  rather  too  much  of  an  old  buck,  Mr.  Foker  sud- 
denly bethought  him  to  ask  the  pair  to  come  and  meet 
the  Major  that  very  evening  at  dinner  at  his  apartment 


PENDENNIS  189 

at  the  George.  "  He  agreed  to  dine  with  me,  and  I 
think  after  the — after  the  little  shindy  this  morning,  in 
which  I  must  say  the  General  was  wrong,  it  would  look 
kind,  you  know.— I  know  the  Major  fell  in  love  with 
you,  Miss  Foth :  he  said  so." 

"  So  she  may  be  Mrs.  Pendennis  still,"  Bows  said  with 
a  sneer—"  No,  thank  you,  Mr.  F.— I've  dined." 

"  Sure,  that  was  at  three  o'clock,"  said  Miss  Costigan, 
who  had  an  honest  appetite,  "  and  I  can't  go  without 

you." 

"  We'll  have  lobster-salad  and  Champagne,"  said  the 
little  monster,  who  could  not  construe  a  line  of  Latin,  or 
do  a  sum  beyond  the  Rule  of  Three.  Now,  for  lobster- 
salad  and  Champagne  in  an  honourable  manner,  Miss 
Costigan  would  have  gone  anywhere — and  Major  Pen- 
dennis actually  found  himself  at  seven  o'clock,  seated  at 
a  dinner-table  in  company  with  Mr.  Bows,  a  profes- 
sional fiddler,  and  Miss  Costigan,  whose  father  had 
wanted  to  blow  his  brains  out  a  few  hours  before. 

To  make  the  happy  meeting  complete,  Mr.  Foker, 
who  knew  Costigan's  haunts,  despatched  Stoopid  to  the 
club  at  the  Magpie,  where  the  General  was  in  the  act 
of  singing  a  pathetic  song,  and  brought  him  off  to 
supper.  To  find  his  daughter  and  Bows  seated  at  the 
board  was  a  surprise  indeed — Major  Pendennis  laughed, 
and  cordially  held  out  his  hand,  which  the  General  Offi- 
cer grasped  avec  effusion  as  the  French  say.  In  fact 
he  was  considerably  inebriated,  and  had  already  been 
crying  over  his. own  song  before  he  joined  the  little  party 
at  the  George.  He  burst  into  tears  more  than  once, 
during  the  entertainment,  and  called  the  Major  his 
dearest  friend.  Stoopid  and  Mr.  Foker  walked  home 
with  him:  the  Major  gallantly  giving  his  arm  to  Miss 


190  PENDENNIS 

Costigan.  He  was  received  with  great  friendliness 
when  he  called  the  next  day,  when  many  civilities  passed 
between  the  gentlemen.  On  taking  leave  he  expressed 
his  anxious  desire  to  serve  Miss  Costigan  on  any  occa- 
sion in  which  he  could  be  useful  to  her,  and  he  shook 
hands  with  Mr.  Foker  most  cordially  and  gratefully, 
and  said  that  gentleman  had  done  him  the  very  greatest 
service. 

"  All  right,"  said  Mr.  Foker :  and  they  parted  with 
mutual  esteem. 

On  his  return  to  Fairoaks  the  next  day,  Major  Pen- 
dennis  did  not  say  what  had  happened  to  him  on  the 
previous  night,  or  allude  to  the  company  in  which  he  had 
passed  it.  But  he  engaged  Mr.  Smirke  to  stop  to  din- 
ner; and  any  person  accustomed  to  watch  his  manner 
might  have  remarked  that  there  was  something  con- 
strained in  his  hilarity  and  talkativeness,  and  that  he  was 
unusually  gracious  and  watchful  in  his  communications 
with  his  nephew.  He  gave  Pen  an  emphatic  God-bless- 
you  when  the  lad  went  to  bed;  and  as  they  were  about 
to  part  for  the  night,  he  seemed  as  if  he  were  going  to 
say  something  to  Mrs.  Pendennis,  but  he  bethought  him 
that  if  he  spoke  he  might  spoil  her  night's  rest,  and 
allowed  her  to  sleep  in  peace. 

The  next  morning  he  was  down  in  the  breakfast-room 
earlier  than  was  his  custom,  and  saluted  everybody  there 
with  great  cordiality.  The  post  used  to  arrive  commonly 
about  the  end  of  this  meal.  When  John,  the  old  servant, 
entered,  and  discharged  the  bag  of  its  letters  and  papers, 
the  Major  looked  hard  at  Pen  as  the  lad  got  his— Ar- 
thur blushed,  and  put  his  letter  down.  He  knew  the 
hand,  it  was  that  of  old  Costigan,  and  he  did  not  care 
to  read  it  in  public.  Major  Pendennis  knew  the  letter, 


PENDENNIS  191 

too.  He  had  put  it  into  the  post  himself  in  Chatteris 
the  day  before. 

He  told  little  Laura  to  go  away,  which  the  child  did, 
having  a  thorough  dislike  to  him ;  and  as  the  door  closed 
on  her,  he  took  Mrs.  Pendennis's  hand,  and  giving  her 
a  look  full  of  meaning,  pointed  to  the  letter  under  the 
newspaper  which  Pen  was  pretending  to  read.  '*  Will 
you  come  into  the  drawing-room?  "  he  said.  "  I  want 
to  speak  to  you." 

And  she  followed  him,  wondering,  into  the  hall. 

'  What  is  it?  "  she  said  nervously. 

'  The  affair  is  at  an  end,"  Major  Pendennis  said. 
"  He  has  a  letter  there  giving  him  his  dismissal.  I  dic- 
tated it  myself  yesterday.  There  are  a  few  lines  from 
the  lady,  too,  bidding  him  farewell.  It  is  all  over." 

Helen  ran  back  to  the  dining-room,  her  brother  fol- 
lowing. Pen  had  jumped  at  his  letter  the  instant  they 
were  gone.  He  was  reading  it  with  a  stupefied  face.  It 
stated  what  the  Major  had  said,  that  Mr.  Costigan  was 
most  gratified  for  the  kindness  with  which  Arthur  had 
treated  his  daughter,  but  that  he  was  only  now  made 
aware  of  Mr.  Pendennis's  pecuniary  circumstances. 
They  were  such  that  marriage  was  at  present  out  of  the 
question,  and  considering  the  great  disparity  in  the  age 
of  the  two,  a  future  union  was  impossible.  Under  these 
circumstances,  and  with  the  deepest  regret  and  esteem 
for  him,  Mr.  Costigan  bade  Arthur  farewell,  and  sug- 
gested that  he  should  cease  visiting,  for  some  time  at 
least,  at  his  house. 

A  few  lines  from  Miss  Costigan  were  inclosed.  She 
acquiesced  in  the  decision  of  her  Papa.  She  pointed  out 
that  she  was  many  years  older  than  Arthur,  and  that  an 
engagement  was  not  to  be  thought  of.  She  would  al- 


192  PENDENNIS 

ways  be  grateful  for  his  kindness  to  her,  and  hoped  to 
keep  his  friendship.  But  at  present,  and  until  the  pain 
of  the  separation  should  be  over,  she  entreated  they 
should  not  meet.  -•= 

Pen  read  Costigan's  letter  and  its  inclosure  mechani- 
cally, hardly  knowing  what  was  before  his  eyes.  He 
looked  up  wildly,  and  saw  his  mother  and  uncle  regard- 
ing him  with  sad  faces.  Helen's,  indeed,  was  full  of 
tender  maternal  anxiety. 

'  What — what  is  this?  "  Pen  said.  "  It's  some  joke. 
This  is  not  her  writing.  This  is  some  servant's  writing. 
Who's  playing  these  tricks  upon  me? " 

"  It  comes  under  her  father's  envelope,"  the  Major 
said.  '  Those  letters  you  had  before  were  not  in  her 
hand:  that  is  hers." 

"  How  do  you  know?  "  said  Pen  very  fiercely. 

"  I  saw  her  write  it,"  the  uncle  answered,  as  the  boy 
started  up;  and  his  mother,  coming  forward,  took  his 
hand.  He  put  her  away. 

"  How  came  you  to  see  her?  How  came  you  between 
me  and  her?  What  have  I  ever  done  to  you  that  you 
should  — Oh,  it's  not  true;  it's  not  true!  "  —Pen  broke  out 
with  a  wild  execration.  "  She  can't  have  done  it  of  her 
own  accord.  She  can't  mean  it.  She's  pledged  to  me. 
Who  has  told  her  lies  to  break  her  from  me?  " 

"  Lies  are  not  told  in  the  family,  Arthur,"  Major  Pen- 
dennis  replied.  ;'  I  told  her  the  truth,  which  was,  that 
you  had  no  money  to  maintain  her,  for  her  foolish  father 
had  represented  you  to  be  rich.  And  when  she  knew 
how  poor  you  were,  she  withdrew  at  once,  and  without 
any  persuasion  of  mine.  She  was  quite  right.  She  is 
ten  years  older  than  you  are.  She  is  perfectly  unfitted 
to  be  your  wife,  and  knows  it.  Look  at  that  hand-writ- 


PENDENNIS  193 

ing,  and  ask  yourself,  is  such  a  woman  fitted  to  be  the 
companion  of  your  mother?  " 

"  I  will  know  from  herself  if  it  is  true,"  Arthur  said, 
crumpling  up  the  paper. 

'  Won't  you  take  my  word  of  honour?  Her  letters 
were  written  by  a  confidante  of  hers,  who  writes  better 
than  she  can— look  here.  Here's  one  from  the  lady  to 
your  friend,  Mr.  Foker.  You  have  seen  her  with  Miss 
Costigan,  as  whose  amanuensis  she  acted  "  —the  Major 
said,  with  ever  so  little  of  a  sneer,  and  laid  down  a  cer- 
tain billet  which  Mr.  Foker  had  given  to  him. 

"  It's  not  that,"  said  Pen,  burning  with  shame  and 
rage.  "  I  suppose  what  you  say  is  true,  sir,  but  I'll 
hear  it  from  herself." 

"  Arthur!  "  appealed  his  mother. 

"  I  will  see  her,"  said  Arthur.  "  I'll  ask  her  to  marry 
me,  once  more.  I  will.  No  one  shall  prevent  me." 

'  What,  a  woman  who  spells  affection  with  one  f  ? 
Nonsense,  sir.  Be  a  man,  and  remember  that  your 
mother  is  a  lady.  She  was  never  made  to  associate  with 
that  tipsy  old  swindler  or  his  daughter.  Be  a  man  and 
forget  her,  as  she  does  you." 

"  Be  a  man  and  comfort  your  mother,  my  Arthur," 
Helen  said,  going  and  embracing  him:  and  seeing  that 
the  pair  were  greatly  moved,  Major  Pendennis  went  out 
of  the  room  and  shut  the  door  upon  them,  wisely  judging 
that  they  were  best  alone. 

He  had  won  a  complete  victory.  He  actually  had 
brought  away  Pen's  letters  in  his  portmanteau  from 
Chatteris:  having  complimented  Mr.  Costigan,  when 
he  returned  them,  by  giving  him  the  little  promissory 
note  which  had  disquieted  himself  and  Mr.  Garbetts: 
and  for  which  the  Major  settled  with  Mr.  Tatham. 


194  PENDENNIS 

Pen  rushed  wildly  off  to  Chatteris  that  day,  but  in 
vain  attempted  to  see  Miss  Fotheringay,  for  whom  he 
left  a  letter,  inclosed  to  her  father.  The  inclosure  was 
returned  by  Mr.  Costigan,  who  begged  that  all  corre- 
spondence might  end ;  and  after  one  or  two  further  at- 
tempts of  the  lad's,  the  indignant  General  desired  that 
their  acquaintance  might  cease.  He  cut  Pen  in  the 
street.  As  Arthur  and  Foker  were  pacing  the  Castle 
walk,  one  day,  they  came  upon  Emily  on  her  father's 
arm.  She  passed  without  any  nod  of  recognition.  Fo- 
ker felt  poor  Pen  trembling  on  his  arm. 

His  uncle  wanted  him  to  travel,  to  quit  the  country 
for  a  while,  and  his  mother  urged  him  too:  for  he  was 
growing  very  ill,  and  suffered  severely.  But  he  refused, 
and  said  point-blank  he  would  not  go.  He  would  not 
obey  in  this  instance :  and  his  mother  was  too  fond,  and 
his  uncle  too  wise  to  force  him.  Whenever  Miss  Foth- 
eringay acted,  he  rode  over  to  the  Chatteris  Theatre  and 
saw  her.  One  night  there  were  so  few  people  in  the 
house  that  the  Manager  returned  the  money.  Pen  came 
home  and  went  to  bed  at  eight  o'clock  and  had  a  fever. 
If  this  continues,  his  mother  will  be  going  over  and  fetch- 
ing the  girl,  the  Major  thought,  in  despair.  As  for 
Pen,  he  thought  he  should  die.  We  are  not  going  to 
describe  his  feelings,  or  give  a  dreary  journal  of  his 
despair  and  passion.  Have  not  other  gentlemen  been 
balked  in  love  besides  Mr.  Pen?  Yes,  indeed:  but  few 
die  of  the  malady. 


A  cut  direct 


CHAPTER  XIV 


IN   WHICH   MISS  FOTHERINGAY  MAKES  A  NEW 
ENGAGEMENT 

ITHIN  a  short  period 
of  the  events  above 
narrated,  Mr.  Manager 
Bingley  was  perform- 
ing his  famous  charac- 
ter of  Rolla,  in  "Pi- 
zarro,"  to  a  house  so 
exceedingly  thin,  that  it 
would  appear  as  if  the 
part  of  Rolla  was  by  no 
means  such  a  favourite 
with  the  people  of  Chat- 
teris  as  it  was  with  the 
accomplished  actor  him- 
self. Scarce  anybody 
was  in  the  theatre.  Poor 
Pen  had  the  boxes  al- 
most all  to  himself,  and  sate  there  lonely,  with  blood- 
shot eyes,  leaning  over  the  ledge,  and  gazing  haggardly 
towards  the  scene,  when  Cora  came  in.  When  she  was 
not  on  the  stage  he  saw  nothing.  Spaniards  and  Peru- 
vians, processions  and  battles,  priests  and  virgins  of  the 
sun,  went  in  and  out,  and  had  their  talk,  but  Arthur 
took  no  note  of  any  one  of  them;  and  only  saw  Cora 
whom  his  soul  longed  after.  He  said  afterwards  that  he 

195 


190  PENDENNIS 

wondered  he  had  not  taken  a  pistol  to  shoot  her,  so  mad 
was  he  with  love,  and  rage,  and  despair ;  and  had  it  not 
been  for  his  mother  at  home,  to  whom  he  did  not  speak 
about  his  luckless  condition,  but  whose  silent  sympathy 
and  watchfulness  greatly  comforted  the  simple  half 
heart-broken  fellow,  who  knows  but  he  might  have  done 
something  desperate,  and  have  ended  his  days  prema- 
turely in  front  of  Chatteris  gaol?  There  he  sate  then, 
miserable,  and  gazing  at  her.  And  she  took  no  more 
notice  of  him  than  he  did  of  the  rest  of  the  house. 

The  Fotheringay  was  uncommonly  handsome,  in  a 
white  raiment  and  leopard  skin,  with  a  sun  upon  her 
breast,  and  fine  tawdry  bracelets  on  her  beautiful  glanc- 
ing arms.  She  spouted  to  admiration  the  few  words  of 
her  part,  and  looked  it  still  better.  The  eyes,  which  had 
overthrown  Pen's  soul,  rolled  and  gleamed  as  lustrous 
as  ever;  but  it  was  not  to  him  that  they  were  directed 
that  night.  He  did  not  know  to  whom,  or  remark  a 
couple  of  gentlemen,  in  the  box  next  to  him,  upon  whom 
Miss  Fotheringay's  glances  were  perpetually  shining. 

Nor  had  Pen  noticed  the  extraordinary  change  which 
had  taken  place  on  the  stage  a  short  time  after  the  entry 
of  these  two  gentlemen  into  the  theatre.  There  were  so 
few  people  in  the  house,  that  the  first  act  of  the  play 
languished  entirely,  and  there  had  been  some  question 
of  returning  the  money,  as  upon  that  other  unfortunate 
night  when  poor  Pen  had  been  driven  away.  The  actors 
were  perfectly  careless  about  their  parts,  and  yawned 
through  the  dialogue,  and  talked  loud  to  each  other 
in  the  intervals.  Even  Bingley  was  listless,  and  Mrs. 
B.  in  Elvira  spoke  under  her  breath. 

How  came  it  that  all  of  a  sudden  Mrs.  Bingley  began 
to  raise  her  voice  and  bellow  like  a  bull  of  Bashan? 


PENDENNIS  197 

Whence  was  it  that  Bingley,  flinging  off  his  apathy, 
darted  about  the  stage  and  yelled  like  Kean?  Why  did 
Garbetts  and  Rowkins  and  Miss  Rouncy  try,  each  of 
them,  the  force  of  their  charms  or  graces,  and  act  and 
swagger  and  scowl  and  spout  their  very  loudest  at  the 
two  gentlemen  in  box  No.  3? 

One  was  a  quiet  little  man  in  black,  with  a  grey  head 
and  a  jolly  shrewd  face — the  other  was  in  all  respects  a 
splendid  and  remarkable  individual.  He  was  a  tall  and 
portly  gentleman  with  a  hooked  nose  and  a  profusion  of 
curling  brown  hair  and  whiskers;  his  coat  was  covered 
with  the  richest  frogs,  braiding,  and  velvet.  He  had 
under- waistcoats,  many  splendid  rings,  jewelled  pins 
and  neck-chains.  When  he  took  out  his  yellow  pocket- 
handkerchief  with  his  hand  that  was  cased  in  white  kids, 
a  delightful  odour  of  musk  and  bergamot  was  shaken 
through  the  house.  He  was  evidently  a  personage  of 
rank,  and  it  was  at  him  that  the  little  Chatteris  company 
was  acting. 

He  was,  in  a  word,  no  other  than  Mr.  Dolphin,  the 
great  manager  from  London,  accompanied  by  his  faith- 
ful friend  and  secretary  Mr.  William  Minns:  without 
whom  he  never  travelled.  He  had  not  been  ten  minutes 
in  the  theatre  before  his  august  presence  there  was  per- 
ceived by  Bingley  and  the  rest:  and  they  all  began  to 
act  their  best  and  try  to  engage  his  attention.  Even 
Miss  Fotheringay's  dull  heart,  which  was  disturbed  at 
nothing,  felt  perhaps  a  flutter,  when  she  came  in  presence 
of  the  famous  London  Impresario.  She  had  not  much 
to  do  in  her  part,  but  to  look  handsome,  and  stand  in  pic- 
turesque attitudes  encircling  her  child :  and  she  did  this 
work  to  admiration.  In  vain  the  various  actors  tried  to 
win  the  favour  of  the  great  stage  Sultan.  Pizarro  never 


198  PENDENNIS 

got  a  hand  from  him.  Bingley  yelled,  and  Mrs.  Bing- 
ley  bellowed,  and  the  Manager  only  took  snuff  out  of 
his  great  gold  box.  It  was  only  in  the  last  scene,  when 
Holla  comes  in  staggering  with  the  infant  (Bingley  is 
not  so  strong  as  he  was,  and  his  fourth  son  Master  Talma 
Bingley  is  a  monstrous  large  child  for  his  age)— when 
Holla  comes  staggering  with  the  child  to  Cora,  who 
rushes  forward  with  a  shriek  and  says — "O  God,  there's 
blood  upon  him! "  —that  the  London  manager  clapped 
his  hands,  and  broke  out  with  an  enthusiastic  bravo. 

Then  having  concluded  his  applause,  Mr.  Dolphin 
gave  his  secretary  a  slap  on  the  shoulder,  and  said  "  By 
Jove,  Billy,  she'll  do!" 

'  Who  taught  her  that  dodge? "  said  old  Billy,  who 
was  a  sardonic  old  gentleman—  "  I  remember  her  at  the 
Olympic,  and  hang  me  if  she  could  say  Bo  to  a  goose." 

It  was  little  Mr.  Bows  in  the  orchestra  who  had  taught 
her  the  "  dodge  "  in  question.  All  the  company  heard 
the  applause,  and,  as  the  curtain  went  down,  came  round 
her  and  congratulated  and  hated  Miss.  Fotheringay. 

Now  Mr.  Dolphin's  appearance  in  the  remote  little 
Chatteris  theatre  may  be  accounted  for  in  this  manner. 
In  spite  of  all  his  exertions,  and  the  perpetual  blazes  of 
triumph,  coruscations  of  talent,  victories  of  good  old 
English  comedy,  which  his  play-bills  advertised,  his 
theatre  (which,  if  you  please,  and  to  injure  no  present 
susceptibilities  and  vested  interests,  we  shall  call  the 
Museum  Theatre)  by  no  means  prospered,  and  the  fa- 
mous Impresario  found  himself  on  the  verge  of  ruin. 
The  great  Hubbard  had  acted  legitimate  drama  for 
twenty  nights,  and  failed  to  remunerate  anybody  but 
himself:  the  celebrated  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cawdor  had  come 
out  in  Mr.  Rawhead's  tragedy,  and  in  their  favourite 


The  Manager  from  London 


PENDENNIS  199 

round  of  pieces,  and  had  not  attracted  the  public.  Herr 
Garbage's  lions  and  tigers  had  drawn  for  a  little  time, 
until  one  of  the  animals  had  bitten  a  piece  out  of  the 
Heir's  shoulder;  when  the  Lord  Chamberlain  inter- 
fered, and  put  a  stop  to  this  species  of  performance: 
and  the  grand  Lyrical  Drama,  though  brought  out  with 
unexampled  splendour  and  success,  with  Monsieur 
Poumons  as  first  tenor,  and  an  enormous  orchestra,  had 
almost  crushed  poor  Dolphin  in  its  triumphant  progress : 
so  that  great  as  his  genius  and  resources  were,  they 
seemed  to  be  at  an  end.  He  was  dragging  on  his  season 
wretchedly  with  half  salaries,  small  operas,  feeble  old 
comedies,  and  his  ballet  company;  and  everybody  was 
looking  out  for  the  day  when  he  should  appear  in  the 
Gazette. 

One  of  the  illustrious  patrons  of  the  Museum  Theatre, 
and  occupant  of  the  great  proscenium-box,  was  a  gen- 
tleman whose  name  has  been  mentioned  in  a  previous 
history ;  that  refined  patron  of  the  arts,  and  enlightened 
lover  of  music  and  the  drama,  the  Most  Noble  the  Mar- 
quis of  Steyne.  His  lordship's  avocations  as  a  states- 
man prevented  him  from  attending  the  playhouse  very 
often,  or  coming  very  early.  But  he  occasionally  ap- 
peared at  the  theatre  in  time  for  the  ballet,  and  was 
always  received  with  the  greatest  respect  by  the  Man- 
ager, from  whom  he  sometimes  condescended  to  receive 
a  visit  in  his  box.  It  communicated  with  the  stage,  and 
when  anything  occurred  there  which  particularly  pleased 
him,  when  a  new  face  made  its  appearance  among  the 
coryphees,  or  a  fair  dancer  executed  a  pas  with  especial 
grace  or  agility,  Mr.  Wenham,  Mr.  Wagg,  or  some 
other  aide-de-camp  of  the  noble  Marquis,  would  be  com- 
missioned to  go  behind  the  scenes,  and  express  the  great 


200  PENDENNIS 

man's  approbation,  or  make  the  inquiries  which  were 
prompted  by  his  lordship's  curiosity,  or  his  interest  in 
the  dramatic  art.  He  could  not  be  seen  by  the  audience, 
for  Lord  Steyne  sate  modestly  behind  a  curtain,  and 
looked  only  towards  the  stage— but  you  could  know  he 
was  in  the  house,  by  the  glances  which  all  the  corps-de- 
ballet,  and  all  the  principal  dancers,  cast  towards  his 
box.  I  have  seen  many  scores  of  pairs  of  eyes  ( as  in  the 
Palm  Dance  in  the  ballet  of  Cook  at  Otaheite,  where 
no  less  than  a  hundred-and-twenty  lovely  female  sav- 
ages in  palm  leaves  and  feather  aprons,  were  made  to 
dance  round  Floridar  as  Captain  Cook),  ogling  that 
box  as  they  performed  before  it,  and  have  often  won- 
dered to  remark  the  presence  of  mind  of  Mademoiselle 
Sauterelle,  or  Mademoiselle  de  Bondi  (known  as  la 
petite  Caoutchouc),  who,  when  actually  up  in  the  air 
quivering  like  so  many  shuttlecocks,  always  kept  their 
lovely  eyes  winking  at  that  box  in  which  the  great  Steyne 
sate.  Now  and  then  you  would  hear  a  harsh  voice  from 
behind  the  curtain,  cry,  "  Brava,  Brava,"  or  a  pair  of 
white  gloves  wave  from  it,  and  begin  to  applaud. 
Bondi,  or  Sauterelle,  when  they  came  down  to  earth, 
curtsied  and  smiled,  especially  to  those  hands,  before 
they  walked  up  the  stage  again,  panting  and  happy. 

One  night  this  great  Prince  surrounded  by  a  few 
choice  friends  was  in  his  box  at  the  Museum,  and  they 
were  making  such  a  noise  and  laughter  that  the  pit  was 
scandalised,  and  many  indignant  voices  were  bawling  out 
silence  so  loudly,  that  Wagg  wondered  the  police  did 
not  interfere  to  take  the  rascals  out.  Wenham  was 
amusing  the  party  in  the  box  with  extracts  from  a  pri- 
vate letter  which  he  had  received  from  Major  Penden- 
nis,  whose  absence  in  the  country  at  the  full  London 


PENDENNIS  201 

season  had  been  remarked,  and  of  course  deplored  by 
his  friends. 

'  The  secret  is  out,"  said  Mr.  Wenham,  "  there's  a 
woman  in  the  case." 

'  Why,  d—  -  it,  Wenham,  he's  your  age,"  said  the 
gentleman  behind  the  curtain. 

"  Pour  les  ames  bien  nees,  1'amour  ne  compte  pas  le 
nombre  des  annees,"  said  Mr.  Wenham,  with  a  gallant 
air.  "  For  my  part,  I  hope  to  be  a  victim  till  I  die,  and 
to  break  my  heart  every  year  of  my  life."  The  mean- 
ing of  which  sentence  was,  "  My  lord,  you  need  not  talk; 
I'm  three  years  younger  than  you,  and  twice  as  well 


conserve" 


'  Wenham,  you  affect  me,"  said  the  great  man,  with 
one  of  his  usual  oaths.  "  By  -  —  you  do.  I  like  to  see 
a  fellow  preserving  all  the  illusions  of  youth  up  to  our 
time  of  life — and  keeping  his  heart  warm  as  yours  is. 
Hang  it,  sir, — it's  a  comfort  to  meet  with  such  a  gener- 
ous, candid  creature. — Who's  that  gal  in  the  second  row, 
with  blue  ribbons,  third  from  the  stage— fine  gal.  Yes, 
you  and  I  are  sentimentalists.  Wagg  I  don't  think  so 
much  cares — it's  the  stomach  rather  more  than  the  heart 
with  you,  eh,  Wagg,  my  boy?  " 

"  I  like  everything  that's  good,"  said  Mr.  Wagg,  gen- 
erously. "  Beauty  and  Burgundy,  Venus  and  Venison. 
I  don't  say  that  Venus's  turtles  are  to  be  despised,  be- 
cause they  don't  cook  them  at  the  London  Tavern:  but 
—but  tell  us  about  old  Pendennis,  Mr.  Wenham,"  he 
abruptly  concluded— for  his  joke  flagged  just  then,  as 
he  saw  that  his  patron  was  not  listening.  In  fact, 
Steyne's  glasses  were  up,  and  he  was  examining  some 
object  on  the  stage. 

"  Yes,  I've  heard  that  joke  about  Venus's  turtle  and 


202  PEXDEXNIS 

the  London  Tavern  before— you  begin  to  fail,  my  poor 
Wagg.  If  you  don't  mind  I  shall  be  obliged  to  have 
a  new  Jester,"  Lord  Steyne  said,  laying  down  his  glass. 
"  Go  on,  Wenham,  about  old  Pendennis." 

"  Dear  Wenham,— he  begins,"  Mr.  Wenham  read,— 
"  as  you  have  had  my  character  in  your  hands  for  the 
last  three  weeks,  and  no  doubt  have  torn  me  to  shreds, 
according  to  your  custom,  I  think  you  can  afford  to  be 
good-humoured  by  way  of  variety,  and  to  do  me  a  ser- 
vice. It  is  a  delicate  matter,  entre  nous,  une  affaire  de 
cceur.  There  is  a  young  friend  of  mine  who  is  gone  wild 
about  a  certain  Miss  Fotheringay,  an  actress  at  the  the- 
atre here,  and  I  must  own  to  you,  as  handsome  a  woman, 
and,  as  it  appears  to  me,  as  good  an  actress  as  ever  put 
on  rouge.  She  does  Ophelia,  Lady  Teazle,  Mrs.  Haller 
—that  sort  of  thing.  Upon  my  word,  she  is  as  splendid 
as  Georges  in  her  best  days,  and,  as  far  as  I  know,  ut- 
terly superior  to  anything  we  have  on  our  scene.  J  want 
a  London  engagement  for  her.  Can't  you  get  your 
friend  Dolphin  to  come  and  see  her — to  engage  her — to 
take  her  out  of  this  place?  A  word  from  a  noble  friend 
of  ours  (you  understand)  would  be  invaluable,  and  if 
you  could  get  the  Gaunt  House  interest  for  me— I  will 
promise  anything  I  can  in  return  for  your  service— 
which  I  shall  consider  one  of  the  greatest  that  can  be 
done  to  me.  Do,  do  this  now  as  a  good  fellow,  which  I 
always  said  you  were:  and  in  return,  command  yours 
truly,  A.  PENDENNIS." 

'  It's  a  clear  case,"  said  Mr.  Wenham,  having  read 
this  letter;  "  old  Pendennis  is  in  love." 

"  And  wants  to  get  the  woman  up  to  London— evi- 
dently," continued  Mr.  Wagg. 


PENDENNIS  203 

"  I  should  like  to  see  Pendennis  on  his  knees,  with  the 
rheumatism,"  said  Mr.  Wenham. 


"  Or  accommodating  the  beloved  object  with  a  lock  of 
his  hair,"  said  Wagg. 

"  Stuff,"  said  the  great  man.    "  He  has  relations  in 


204  PENDENNIS 

the  county,  hasn't  he?  He  said  something  about  a 
nephew,  whose  interest  could  return  a  member.  It  is 
the  nephew's  affair,  depend  on  it.  The  young  one  is  in 
a  scrape.  I  was  myself — when  I  was  in  the  fifth  form 
at  Eton — a  market-gardener's  daughter — and  swore  I'd 
marry  her.  I  was  mad  about  her — poor  Polly!  "  —Here 
he  made  a  pause,  and  perhaps  the  past  rose  up  to  Lord 
Steyne,  and  George  Gaunt  was  a  boy  again  not  alto- 
gether lost.—  "  But  I  say,  she  must  be  a  fine  woman  from 
Pendennis's  account.  Have  in  Dolphin,  and  let  us  hear 
if  he  knows  anything  of  her." 

At  this  Wenham  sprang  out  of  the  box,  passed  the 
servitor  who  waited  at  the  door  communicating  with  the 
stage,  and  who  saluted  Mr.  Wenham  with  profound  re- 
spect; and  the  latter  emissary,  pushing  on  and  familiar 
with  the  place,  had  no  difficulty  in  finding  out  the 
manager,  who  was  employed,  as  he  not  unfrequently 
was,  in  swearing  and  cursing  the  ladies  of  the  corps-de- 
ballet  for  not  doing  their  duty. 

The  oaths  died  away  on  Mr.  Dolphin's  lips,  as  soon 
as  he  saw  Mr.  Wenham;  and  he  drew  off  the  hand 
which  was  clenched  in  the  face  of  one  of  the  offending 
Coryphees,  to  grasp  that  of  the  new  comer.  "  How  do, 
Mr.  Wenham?  How's  his  lordship  to-night?  Looks 
uncommonly  well,"  said  the  manager  smiling,  as  if  he 
had  never  been  out  of  temper  in  his  life;  and  he  was 
only  too  delighted  to  follow  Lord  Steyne's  ambassador, 
and  pay  his  personal  respects  to  that  great  man. 

The  visit  to  Chatteris  was  the  result  of  their  conver- 
sation: and  Mr.  Dolphin  wrote  to  his  Lordship  from 
that  place,  and  did  himself  the  honour  to  inform  the 
Marquis  of  Steyne,  that  he  had  seen  the  lady  about  whom 
his  Lordship  had  spoken,  that  he  was  as  much  struck 


PENDENNIS  205 

by  her  talents  as  he  was  by  her  personal  appearance,  and 
that  he  had  made  an  engagement  with  Miss  Fotherin- 
gay,  who  would  soon  have  the  honour  of  appearing  be- 
fore a  London  audience,  and  his  noble  and  enlightened 
patron  the  Marquis  of  Steyne. 

Pen  read  the  announcement  of  Miss  Fotheringay's 
engagement  in  the  Chatteris  paper,  where  he  had  so 
often  praised  her  charms.  The  Editor  made  very  hand- 
some mention  of  her  talent  and  beauty,  and  prophesied 
her  success  in  the  metropolis.  Bingley,  the  manager, 
began  to  advertise  "  The  last  night  of  Miss  Fotherin- 
gay's engagement."  Poor  Pen  and  Sir  Derby  Oaks 
were  very  constant  at  the  play :  Sir  Derby  in  the  stage- 
box,  throwing  bouquets  and  getting  glances. — Pen  in 
the  almost  deserted  boxes,  haggard,  wretched,  and 
lonely.  Nobody  cared  whether  Miss  Fotheringay  was 
going  or  staying  except  those  two— and  perhaps  one 
more,  which  was  Mr.  Bows  of  the  orchestra. 

He  came  out  of  his  place  one  night,  and  went  into  the 
house  to  the  box  where  Pen  was;  and  he  held  out  his 
hand  to  him,  and  asked  him  to  come  and  walk.  They 
walked  down  the  street  together;  and  went  and  sate 
upon  Chatteris  bridge  in  the  moonlight,  and  talked  about 
Her.  '  We  may  sit  on  the  same  bridge,"  said  he:  "  we 
have  been  in  the  same  boat  for  a  long  time.  You  are 
not  the  only  man  who  has  made  a  fool  of  himself  about 
that  woman.  And  I  have  less  excuse  than  you,  because 
I'm  older  and  know  her  better.  She  has  no  more  heart 
than  the  stone  you  are  leaning  on;  and  it  or  you  or  I 
might  fall  into  the  water,  and  never  come  up  again, 
and  she  wouldn't  care.  Yes— she  would  care  for  me, 
because  she  wants  me  to  teach  her:  and  she  won't  be 
able  to  get  on  without  me,  and  will  be  forced  to  send  for 


206  PENDENNIS 

me  from  London.  But  she  wouldn't  if  she  didn't  want 
me.  She  has  no  heart  and  no  head,  and  no  sense,  and 
no  feelings,  and  no  griefs  or  cares,  whatever.  I  was 
going  to  say  no  pleasures— but  the  fact  is,  she  does  like 
her  dinner,  and  she  is  pleased  when  people  admire  her." 

"  And  you  do? "  said  Pen,  interested  out  of  himself, 
and  wondering  at  the  crabbed  homely  little  old  man. 

"  It's  a  habit,  like  taking  snuff,  or  drinking  drams," 
said  the  other,  "  I've  been  taking  her  these  five  years, 
and  can't  do  without  her.  It  was  I  made  her.  If  she 
doesn't  send  for  me,  I  shall  follow  her :  but  I  know  she'll 
send  for  me.  She  wants  me.  Some  day  she'll  marry, 
and  fling  me  over,  as  I  do  the  end  of  this  cigar." 

The  little  flaming  spark  dropped  into  the  water  be- 
low, and  disappeared;  and  Pen,  as  he  rode  home  that 
night,  actually  thought  about  somebody  but  himself. 


CHAPTER  XV 


THE   HAPPY   VILLAGE 

_  NTIL  the  enemy  had  retired 
fc  J  altogether  from  before  the 
place,  Major  Pendennis  was 
resolved  to  keep  his  garrison 
in  Fairoaks.  He  did  not  ap- 
pear to  watch  Pen's  behaviour, 
or  to  put  any  restraint  on  his 
nephew's  actions,  but  he  man- 
aged, nevertheless,  to  keep  the 
lad  constantly  under  his  eye  or 
those  of  his  agents,  and  young 
Arthur's  comings  and  goings 
were  quite  well  known  to  his 
vigilant  guardian. 
I  suppose  there  is  scarcely  any  man  who  reads  this 
or  any  other  novel  but  has  been  balked  in  love  sometime 
or  the  other,  by  fate,  and  circumstance,  by  falsehood  of 
women,  or  his  own  fault.  Let  that  worthy  friend  recall 
his  own  sensations  under  the  circumstances,  and  apply 
them  as  illustrative  of  Mr.  Pen's  anguish.  Ah!  what 
weary  nights  and  sickening  fevers!  Ah!  what  mad  de- 
sires dashing  up  against  some  rock  of  obstruction  or  in- 
difference, and  flung  back  again  from  the  unimpres- 
sionable granite!  If  a  list  could  be  made  this  very  night 
in  London  of  the  groans,  thoughts,  imprecations  of  toss- 
ing lovers,  what  a  catalogue  it  would  be!  I  wonder  what 

907 


208  PENDENNIS 

a  percentage  of  the  male  population  of  the  metropolis 
will  be  lying  awake  at  two  or  three  o'clock  to-morrow 
morning,  counting  the  hours  as  they  go  by,  knelling 
drearily,  and  rolling  from  left  to  right,  restless,  yearn- 
ing, and  heart-sick?  What  a  pang  it  is!  I  never  knew 
a  man  die  of  love,  certainly,  but  I  have  known  a  twelve 
stone  man  go  down  to  nine  stone  five  under  a  disap- 
pointed passion,  so  that  pretty  nearly  a  quarter  of  him 
may  be  said  to  have  perished :  and  that  is  no  small  por- 
tion. He  has  come  back  to  his  old  size  subsequently— 
perhaps  is  bigger  than  ever:  very  likely  some  new  af- 
fection has  closed  round  his  heart  and  ribs  and  made 
them  comfortable,  and  young  Pen  is  a  man  who  will 
console  himself  like  the  rest  of  us.  We  say  this  lest  the 
ladies  should  be  disposed  to  deplore  him  prematurely,  or 
be  seriously  uneasy  with  regard  to  his  complaint.  His 
mother  was,  but  what  will  not  a  maternal  fondness  fear 
or  invent?  "  Depend  on  it,  my  dear  creature,"  Major 
Pendennis  would  say  gallantly  to  her,  "  the  boy  will  re- 
cover. As  soon  as  we  get  her  out  of  the  country,  we  will 
take  him  somewhere,  and  show  him  a  little  life.  Mean- 
time make  yourself  easy  about  him.  Half  a  fellow's 
pangs  at  losing  a  woman  result  from  vanity  more  than 
affection.  To  be  left  by  a  woman  is  the  deuce  and  all, 
to  be  sure;  but  look  how  easily  we  leave  'em." 

Mrs.  Pendennis  did  not  know.  This  sort  of  know- 
ledge had  by  no  means  come  within  the  simple  lady's 
scope.  Indeed,  she  did  not  like  the  subject  or  to  talk 
of  it :  her  heart  had  had  its  own  little  private  misadven- 
ture, and  she  had  borne  up  against  it,  and  cured  it :  and 
perhaps  she  had  not  much  patience  with  other  folks'  pas- 
sions, except,  of  course,  Arthur's,  whose  sufferings  she 
made  her  own,  feeling  indeed  very  likely,  in  many  of  the 


PENDENNIS  209 

boy's  illnesses  and  pains,  a  great  deal  more  than  Pen 
himself  endured.  And  she  watched  him  through  this 
present  grief  with  a  jealous  silent  sympathy;  although, 
as  we  have  said,  he  did  not  talk  to  her  of  his  unfortunate 
condition. 

The  Major  must  be  allowed  to  have  had  not  a  little 
merit  and  forbearance,  and  to  have  exhibited  a  highly 
creditable  degree  of  family  affection.  The  life  at  Fair- 
oaks  was  uncommonly  dull  to  a  man  who  had  the  entree 
of  half  the  houses  in  London,  and  was  in  the  habit  of 
making  his  bow  in  three  or  four  drawing-rooms  of  a 
night.  A  dinner  with  Doctor  Portman  or  a  neighbouring 
Squire  now  and  then ;  a  dreary  rubber  at  backgammon 
with  the  widow,  who  did  her  utmost  to  amuse  him ;  these 
were  the  chief  of  his  pleasures.  He  used  to  long  for  the 
arrival  of  the  bag  with  the  letters,  and  he  read  every 
word  of  the  evening  paper.  He  doctored  himself  too, 
assiduously, — a  course  of  quiet  living  would  suit  him 
well,  he  thought,  after  the  London  banquets.  He 
dressed  himself  laboriously  every  morning  and  after- 
noon: he  took  regular  exercise  up  and  down  the  terrace 
walk.  Thus,  with  his  cane,  his  toilet,  his  medicine-chest, 
his  backgammon-box,  and  his  newspaper,  this  worthy 
and  worldly  philosopher  fenced  himself  against  ennui; 
and  if  he  did  not  improve  each  shining  hour,  like  the  bees 
by  the  widow's  garden  wall,  Major  Pendennis  made  one 
hour  after  another  pass  as  he  could;  and  rendered  his 
captivity  just  tolerable. 

Pen  sometimes  took  the  box  at  backgammon  of  a 
night,  or  would  listen  to  his  mother's  simple  music  of 
summer  evenings — but  he  was  very  restless  and  wretched 
in  spite  of  all :  and  has  been  known  to  be  up  before  the 
early  daylight  even:  and  down  at  a  carp-pond  in  Clav- 


210  PENDENNIS 

ering  Park,  a  dreary  pool  with  innumerable  whispering 
rushes  and  green  alders,  where  a  milkmaid  drowned  her- 
self in  the  Baronet's  grandfather's  time,  and  her  ghost 
was  said  to  walk  still.  But  Pen  did  not  drown  himself, 
as  perhaps  his  mother  fancied  might  be  his  intention. 
He  liked  to  go  and  fish  there,  and  think  and  think  at 
leisure,  as  the  float  quivered  in  the  little  eddies  of  the 
pond,  and  the  fish  flapped  about  him.  If  he  got  a  bite 
he  was  excited  enough:  and  in  this  way  occasionally 
brought  home  carps,  tenches,  and  eels,  which  the  Major 
cooked  in  the  Continental  fashion. 

By  this  pond,  and  under  a  tree,  which  was  his  favourite 
resort,  Pen  composed  a  number  of  poems  suitable  to  his 
circumstances — over  which  verses  he  blushed  in  after 
days,  wondering  how  he  could  ever  have  invented  such 
rubbish.  And  as  for  the  tree,  why  it  is  in  a  hollow  of 
this  very  tree,  where  he  used  to  put  his  tin-box  of  ground- 
bait,  and  other  fishing  commodities,  that  he  afterwards 
—but  we  are  advancing  matters.  Suffice  it  to  say,  he 
wrote  poems  and  relieved  himself  very  much.  When  a 
man's  grief  or  passion  is  at  this  point,  it  may  be  loud, 
but  it  is  not  very  severe.  When  a  gentleman  is  cudgel- 
ling his  brain  to  find  any  rhyme  for  sorrow,  besides  bor- 
row and  to-morrow,  his  woes  are  nearer  at  an  end  than 
he  thinks  for.  So  were  Pen's.  He  had  his  hot  and  cold 
fits,  his  days  of  sullenness  and  peevishness,  and  of  blank 
resignation  and  despondency,  and  occasional  mad  parox- 
ysms of  rage  and  longing,  in  which  fits  Rebecca  would 
be  saddled  and  galloped  fiercely  about  the  country,  or 
into  Chatteris,  her  rider  gesticulating  wildly  on  her  back, 
and  astonishing  carters  and  turnpikemen  as  he  passed, 
crying  out  the  name  of  the  false  one. 

Mr.  Foker  became  a  very  frequent  and  welcome  vis- 


PENDENNIS  211 

itor  at  Fairoaks  during  this  period,  where  his  good  spirits 
and  oddities  always  amused  the  Major  and  Pendennis, 
while  they  astonished  the  widow  and  little  Laura  not  a 
little.  His  tandem  made  a  great  sensation  in  Clavering 
market-place;  where  he  upset  a  market  stall,  and  cut 
Mrs.  Pybus's  poodle  over  the  shaven  quarters,  and  drank 
a  glass  of  raspberry  bitters  at  the  Clavering  Arms.  All 
the  society  in  the  little  place  heard  who  he  was,  and  looked 
out  his  name  in  their  Peerages.  He  was  so  young, 
and  their  books  so  old,  that  his  name  did  not  appear  in 
many  of  their  volumes;  and  his  mamma,  now  quite  an 
antiquated  lady,  figured  amongst  the  progeny  of  the 
Earl  of  Rosherville,  as  Lady  Agnes  Milton  still.  But 
his  name,  wealth,  and  honourable  lineage  were  speedily 
known  about  Clavering,  where  you  may  be  sure  that 
poor  Pen's  little  transaction  with  the  Chatteris  actress 
was  also  pretty  freely  discussed. 

Looking  at  the  little  old  town  of  Clavering  St.  Mary 
from  the  London  road  as  it  runs  by  the  lodge  at  Fair- 
oaks,  and  seeing  the  rapid  and  shining  Brawl  winding 
down  from  the  town  and  skirting  the  woods  of  Clavering 
Park,  and  the  ancient  church  tower  and  peaked  roofs  of 
the  houses  rising  up  amongst  trees  and  old  walls,  behind 
which  swells  a  fair  back-ground  of  sunshiny  hills  that 
stretch  from  Clavering  westwards  towards  the  sea — the 
place  appears  to  be  so  cheery  and  comfortable  that  many 
a  traveller's  heart  must  have  yearned  towards  it  from 
the  coach-top,  and  he  must  have  thought  that  it  was  in 
such  a  calm  friendly  nook  he  would  like  to  shelter  at  the 
end  of  life's  struggle.  Tom  Smith,  who  used  to  drive 
the  Alacrity  coach,  would  often  point  to  a  tree  near  the 
river,  from  which  a  fine  view  of  the  church  and  town  was 


212  PENDENNIS 

commanded,  and  inform  his  companion  on  the  box  that 
"  Artises  come  and  take  hofF  the  Church  from  that  there 
tree. — It  was  a  Habby  once,  sir:  "  —and  indeed  a  pretty 
view  it  is,  which  I  recommend  to  Mr.  Stanfield  or  Mr. 
Roberts,  for  their  next  tour. 

Like  Constantinople  seen  from  the  Bosphorus;  like 
Mrs.  Rougemont  viewed  in  her  box  from  the  opposite 
side  of  the  house;  like  many  an  object  which  we  pursue 
in  life,  and  admire  before  we  have  attained  it ;  Clavering 
is  rather  prettier  at  a  distance  than  it  is  on  a  closer  ac- 
quaintance. The  town  so  cheerful  of  aspect  a  few  fur- 
longs off,  looks  very  blank  and  dreary.  Except  on  mar- 
ket days  there  is  nobody  in  the  streets.  The  clack  of  a 
pair  of  pattens  echoes  through  half  the  place,  and  you 
may  hear  the  creaking  of  the  rusty  old  ensign  at  the 
Clavering  Arms,  without  being  disturbed  by  any  other 
noise.  There  has  not  been  a  ball  in  the  Assembly  Rooms 
since  the  Clavering  volunteers  gave  one  to  their  Colonel, 
the  old  Sir  Francis  Clavering;  and  the  stables  which 
once  held  a  great  part  of  that  brilliant,  but  defunct  reg- 
iment, are  now  cheerless  and  empty,  except  on  Thurs- 
days, when  the  farmers  put  up  there,  and  their  tilted 
carts  and  gigs  make  a  feeble  show  of  liveliness  in  the 
place,  or  on  Petty  Sessions,  when  the  magistrates  attend 
in  what  used  to  be  the  old  card-room. 

On  the  south  side  of  the  market  rises  up  the  church, 
with  its  great  grey  towers,  of  which  the  sun  illuminates 
the  delicate  carving ;  deepening  the  shadows  of  the  huge 
buttresses,  and  gilding  the  glittering  windows,  and  flam- 
ing vanes.  The  image  of  the  Patroness  of  the  Church 
was  wrenched  out  of  the  porch  centuries  ago:  such  of 
the  statues  of  saints  as  were  within  reach  of  stones  and 
hammer  at  that  period  of  pious  demolition,  are  maimed 


PENDENNIS  213 

and  headless,  and  of  those  who  were  out  of  fire,  only 
Doctor  Portman  knows  the  names  and  history,  for  his 
curate,  Smirke,  is  not  much  of  an  antiquarian,  and  Mr. 
Simcoe  (husband  of  the  Honourable  Mrs.  Simcoe),  in- 
cumbent and  architect  of  the  Chapel  of  Ease  in  the  lower 
town,  thinks  them  the  abomination  of  desolation. 

The  Rectory  is  a  stout,  broad-shouldered  brick  house, 
of  the  reign  of  Anne.  It  communicates  with  the  church 
and  market  by  different  gates,  and  stands  at  the  opening 
of  Yew-tree  Lane,  where  the  Grammar  School  (Rev. 

Wapshot)  is;  Yew-tree  Cottage  (Miss  Flather)  ; 

the  butcher's  slaughtering-house,  an  old  barn  or  brew- 
house  of  the  Abbey  times,  and  the  Misses  Finucane's 
establishment  for  young  ladies.  The  two  schools  had 
their  pews  in  the  loft  on  each  side  of  the  organ,  until  the 
Abbey  Church  getting  rather  empty,  through  the  falling 
off  of  the  congregation,  who  were  inveigled  to  the  Her- 
esy-shop in  the  lower  town,  the  Doctor  induced  the 
Misses  Finucane  to  bring  their  pretty  little  flock  down 
stairs;  and  the  young  ladies'  bonnets  make  a  tolerable 
show  in  the  rather  vacant  aisles.  Nobody  is  in  the  great 
pew  of  the  Clavering  family,  except  the  statues  of  de- 
funct baronets  and  their  ladies :  there  is  Sir  Poyntz  Clav- 
ering, Knight  and  Baronet,  kneeling  in  a  square  beard 
opposite  his  wife  in  a  ruff:  a  very  fat  lady,  the  Dame 
Rebecca  Clavering,  in  alto-relievo,  is  borne  up  to  Heaven 
by  two  little  blue-veined  angels,  who  seem  to  have  a  se- 
vere task — and  so  forth.  How  well  in  after  life  Pen 
remembered  those  effigies,  and  how  often  in  youth  he 
scanned  them  as  the  Doctor  was  grumbling  the  sermon 
from  the  pulpit,  and  Smirke's  mild  head  and  forehead 
curl  peered  over  the  great  prayer-book  in  the  desk ! 

The  Fairoaks  folks  were  constant  at  the  old  church; 


2U  PENDENNIS 

their  servants  had  a  pew,  so  had  the  Doctor's,  so  had 
Wapshot's,  and  those  of  the  Misses  Finucane's  estab- 
lishment, three  maids  and  a  very  nice-looking  young  man 
in  a  livery.  The  Wapshot  family  were  numerous  and 
faithful.  Glanders  and  his  children  regularly  came  to 
church:  so  did  one  of  the  apothecaries.  Mrs.  Pybus 
went,  turn  and  turn  about,  to  the  Low  Town  church, 
and  to  the  Abbey :  the  Charity  School  and  their  families 
of  course  came;  Wapshot's  boys  made  a  good  cheerful 
noise,  scuffling  with  their  feet  as  they  marched  into 
church  and  up  the  organ-loft  stair,  and  blowing  their 
noses  a  good  deal  during  the  service.  To  be  brief,  the 
congregation  looked  as  decent  as  might  be  in  these  bad 
times.  The  Abbey  Church  was  furnished  with  a  mag- 
nificent screen,  and  many  hatchments  and  heraldic  tomb- 
stones. The  Doctor  spent  a  great  part  of  his  income 
in  beautifying  his  darling  place ;  he  had  endowed  it  with 
a  superb  painted  window,  bought  in  the  Netherlands, 
and  an  organ  grand  enough  for  a  cathedral. 

But  in  spite  of  organ  and  window,  in  consequence  of 
the  latter  very  likely,  which  had  come  out  of  a  Papistical 
place  of  worship  and  was  blazoned  all  over  with  idolatry, 
Clavering  New  Church  prospered  scandalously  in  the 
teeth  of  Orthodoxy;  and  many  of  the  Doctor's  congre- 
gation deserted  to  Mr.  Simcoe  and  the  honourable 
woman  his  wife.  Their  efforts  had  thinned  the  very 
Ebenezer  hard  by  them,  which  building  before  Simcoe's 
advent  used  to  be  so  full,  that  you  could  see  the  backs 
of  the  congregation  squeezing  out  of  the  arched  windows 
thereof.  Mr.  Simcoe's  tracts  fluttered  into  the  doors  of 
all  the  Doctor's  cottages,  and  were  taken  as  greedily  as 
honest  Mrs.  Portman's  soup,  with  the  quality  of  which 
the  graceless  people  found  fault.  With  the  folks  at  the 


PENDENNIS  215 

Ribbon  Factory  situated  by  the  weir  on  the  Brawl  side, 
and  round  which  the  Low  Town  had  grown,  Orthodoxy 
could  make  no  way  at  all.  Quiet  Miss  Mira  was  put  out 
of  court  by  impetuous  Mrs.  Simcoe  and  her  female  aides- 
de-camp.  Ah,  it  was  a  hard  burthen  for  the  Doctor's 
lady  to  bear,  to  behold  her  husband's  congregation  dwin- 
dling away ;  to  give  the  precedence  on  the  few  occasions 
when  they  met  to  a  notorious  low-churchman's  wife  who 
was  the  daughter  of  an  Irish  Peer;  to  know  that  there 
was  a  party  in  Clavering,  their  own  town  of  Clavering, 
on  which  her  Doctor  spent  a  great  deal  more  than  his 
professional  income,  who  held  him  up  to  odium  because 
he  played  a  rubber  at  whist ;  and  pronounced  him  to  be 
a  Heathen  because  he  went  to  the  play.  In  her  grief 
she  besought  him  to  give  up  the  play  and  the  rubber,— 
indeed  they  could  scarcely  get  a  table  now,  so  dreadful 
was  the  outcry  against  the  sport, — but  the  Doctor  de- 
clared that  he  would  do  what  he  thought  right,  and  what 
the  great  and  good  George  the  Third  did  (whose  Chap- 
lain he  had  been) :  and  as  for  giving  up  whist  because 
those  silly  folks  cried  out  against  it,  he  would  play 
dummy  to  the  end  of  his  days  with  his  wife  and  Mira, 
rather  than  yield  to  their  despicable  persecutions. 

Of  the  two  families,  owners  of  the  Factory  (which  had 
spoiled  the  Brawl  as  a  trout-stream  and  brought  all  the 
mischief  into  the  town ) ,  the  senior  partner,  Mr.  Rolt, 
went  to  Ebenezer;  the  junior,  Mr.  Barker,  to  the  New 
Church.  In  a  word,  people  quarrelled  in  this  little  place 
a  great  deal  more  than  neighbours  do  in  London;  and 
in  the  Book  Club,  which  the  prudent  and  conciliating 
Pendennis  had  set  up,  and  which  ought  to  have  been  a 
neutral  territory,  they  bickered  so  much  that  nobody 
scarcely  was  ever  seen  in  the  -reading-room,  except 


216  PENDENNIS 

Smirke,  who,  though  he  kept  up  a  faint  amity  with  the 
Simcoe  faction,  had  still  a  taste  for  magazines  and  light 
worldly  literature;  and  old  Glanders,  whose  white  head 
and  grizzly  moustache  might  be  seen  at  the  window ;  and 
of  course,  little  Mrs.  Pybus,  who  looked  at  everybody's 
letters  as  the  Post  brought  them  (for  the  Clavering 
Reading  Room,  as  every  one  knows,  used  to  be  held  at 
Baker's  Library,  London  Street,  formerly  Hog  Lane), 
and  read  every  advertisement  in  the  paper. 

It  may  be  imagined  how  great  a  sensation  was  created 
in  this  amiable  little  community  when  the  news  reached 
it  of  Mr.  Pen's  love-passages  at  Chatteris.  It  was  car- 
ried from  house  to  house,  and  formed  the  subject  of  talk 
at  high-church,  low-church,  and  no-church  tables;  it  was 
canvassed  by  the  Misses  Finucane  and  their  teachers, 
and  very  likely  debated  by  the  young  ladies  in  the 
dormitories,  for  what  we  know ;  Wapshot's  big  boys  had 
their  version  of  the  story  and  eyed  Pen  curiously  as  he 
sate  in  his  pew  at  church,  or  raised  the  finger  of  scorn 
at  him  as  he  passed  through  Chatteris.  They  always 
hated  him  and  called  him  Lord  Pendennis,  because  he 
did  not  wear  corduroys  as  they  did,  and  rode  a  horse,  and 
gave  himself  the  airs  of  a  buck. 

And,  if  the  truth  must  be  toldj  it  was  Mrs.  Portman 
herself  who  was  the  chief  narrator  of  the  story  of  Pen's 
loves.  Whatever  tales  this  candid  woman  heard,  she 
was  sure  to  impart  them  to  her  neighbours;  and  after 
she  had  been  put  into  possession  of  Pen's  secret  by  the 
little  scandal  at  Chatteris,  poor  Doctor  Portman  knew 
that  it  would  next  day  be  about  the  parish  of  which  he 
was  the  Rector.  And  so  indeed  it  was;  the  whole  soci- 
ety there  had  the  legend— at  the  news-room,  at  the 
milliner's,  at  the  shoe-shop,  and  the  general  warehouse 


PENDENXIS  217 

at  the  corner  of  the  market;  at  Mrs.  Pybus's,  at  the 
Glanders's,  at  the  Honourable  Mrs.  Simcoe's  soiree,  at 
the  Factory;  nay,  through  the  mill  itself  the  tale  was 
current  in  a  few  hours,  and  young  Arthur  Pendennis's 
madness  was  in  every  mouth. 

All  Doctor  Portman's  acquaintances  barked  out  upon 
him  when  he  walked  the  street  the  next  day.  The  poor 
divine  knew  that  his  Betsy  was  the  author  of  the  rumour, 
and  groaned  in  spirit.  Well,  well, — it  must  have  come 
in  a  day  or  two,  and  it  was  as  well  that  the  town  should 
have  the  real  story.  What  the  Clavering  folks  thought 
of  Mrs.  Pendennis  for  spoiling  her  son,  and  of  that  pre- 
cocious young  rascal  of  an  Arthur,  for  daring  to  propose 
to  a  play-actress,  need  not  be  told  here.  If  pride  exists 
amongst  any  folks  in  our  country,  and  assuredly  we  have 
enough  of  it,  there  is  no  pride  more  deep-seated  than  that 
of  twopenny  old  gentlewomen  in  small  towns.  "  Gra- 
cious goodness,"  the  cry  was,  "  how  infatuated  the 
mother  is  about  that  pert  and  headstrong  boy  who  gives 
himself  the  airs  of  a  lord  on  his  blood-horse,  and  for 
whom  our  society  is  not  good  enough,  and  who  would 
marry  an  odious  painted  actress  off  a  booth,  where  very 
likely  he  wants  to  rant  himself.  If  dear  good  Mr.  Pen- 
dennis had  been  alive  this  scandal  would  never  have 
happened." 

No  more  it  would,  very  likely,  nor  should  we  have  been 
occupied  in  narrating  Pen's  history.  It  was  true  that  he 
gave  himself  airs  to  the  Clavering  folks.  Naturally 
haughty  and  frank,  their  cackle  and  small  talk  and  small 
dignities  bored  him,  and  he  showed  a  contempt  which  he 
could  not  conceal.  The  Doctor  and  the  Curate  were  the 
only  people  Pen  cared  for  in  the  place — even  Mrs.  Port- 
man  shared  in  the  general  distrust  of  him,  and  of  his 


218  PENDENNIS 

mother,  the  widow,  who  kept  herself  aloof  from  the  vil- 
lage society,  and  was  sneered  at  accordingly,  because 
she  tried,  forsooth,  to  keep  her  head  up  with  the  great 
County  families.  She,  indeed!  Mrs.  Barker  at  the 
Factory  has  four  times  the  butcher's  meat  that  goes  up 
to  Fairoaks,  with  all  their  fine  airs. 

&c.  &c.  &c.:  let  the  reader  fill  up  these  details  ac- 
cording to  his  liking  and  experience  of  village  scan- 
dal. They  will  suffice  to  show  how  it  was  that  a  good 
woman,  occupied  solely  in  doing  her  duty  to  her  neigh- 
bour and  her  children,  and  an  honest,  brave  lad,  im- 
petuous, and  full  of  good,  and  wishing  well  to  every 
mortal  alive,  found  enemies  and  detractors  amongst 
people  to  whom  they  were  superior,  and  to  whom  they 
had  never  done  anything  like  harm.  The  Clavering 
curs  were  yelping  all  round  the  house  of  Fairoaks,  and 
delighted  to  pull  Pen  down. 

Doctor  Portman  and  Smirke  were  both  cautious  of  in- 
forming the  widow  of  the  constant  outbreak  of  calumny 
which  was  pursuing  poor  Pen,  though  Glanders,  who 
was  a  friend  of  the  house,  kept  him  au  courant.  It  may 
be  imagined  what  his  indignation  was:  was  there  any 
man  in  the  village  whom  he  could  call  to  account?  Pres- 
ently some  wags  began  to  chalk  up  "  Fotheringay  for 
ever!"  and  other  sarcastic  allusions  to  late  transactions 
at  Fairoaks'  gate.  Another  brought  a  large  play-bill 
from  Chatteris,  and  wafered  it  there  one  night.  On  one 
occasion  Pen,  riding  through  the  Low  Town,  fancied  he 
heard  the  Factory  boys  jeer  him;  and  finally,  going 
through  the  Doctor's  gate  into  the  churchyard,  where 
some  of  Wapshot's  boys  were  lounging,  the  biggest  of 
them,  a  young  gentleman  about  twenty  years  of  age,  son 
of  a  neighbouring  small  Squire,  who  lived  in  the  doubt- 


"Does  any  body  want  more?' 


PENDENNIS  219 

ful  capacity  of  parlour-boarder  with  Mr.  Wapshot, 
flung  himself  into  a  theatrical  attitude  near  a  newly- 
made  grave,  and  began  repeating  Hamlet's  verses  over 
Ophelia,  with  a  hideous  leer  at  Pen. 

The  young  fellow  was  so  enraged  that  he  rushed  at 
Hobnell  Major  with  a  shriek  very  much  resembling  an 
oath,  cut  him  furiously  across  the  face  with  the  riding- 
whip  which  he  carried,  flung  it  away,  calling  upon  the 
cowardly  villain  to  defend  himself,  and  in  another  min- 
ute knocked  the  bewildered  young  ruffian  into  the  grave 
which  was  just  waiting  for  a  different  lodger. 

Then,  with  his  fists  clenched,  and  his  face  quivering 
with  passion  and  indignation,  he  roared  out  to  Mr.  Hob- 
nell's  gaping  companions,  to  know  if  any  of  the  black- 
guards would  come  on?  But  they  held  back  with  a 
growl,  and  retreated  as  Doctor  Portman  came  up  to 
his  wicket,  and  Mr.  Hobnell,  with  his  nose  and  lip  bleed- 
ing piteously,  emerged  from  the  grave. 

Pen,  looking  death  and  defiance  at  the  lads,  who  re- 
treated towards  their  side  of  the  churchyard,  walked 
back  again  through  the  Doctor's  wicket,  and  was  inter- 
rogated by  that  gentleman.  The  young  fellow  was  so 
agitated  he  could  scarcely  speak.  His  voice  broke  into 
a  sob  as  he  answered.  '  The — coward  insulted  me,  sir," 
he  said;  and  the  Doctor  passed  over  the  oath,  and  re- 
spected the  emotion  of  the  honest  suffering  young  heart. 

Pendennis  the  elder,  who,  like  a  real  man  of  the  world, 
had  a  proper  and  constant  dread  of  the  opinion  of  his 
neighbour,  was  prodigiously  annoyed  by  the  absurd  lit- 
tle tempest  which  was  blowing  in  Chatteris,  and  tossing 
about  Master  Pen's  reputation.  Doctor  Portman  and 
Captain  Glanders  had  to  support  the  charges  of  the 


220  PENDENNIS 

whole  Chatteris  society  against  the  young  reprobate,  who 
was  looked  upon  as  a  monster  of  crime.  Pen  did  not 
say  anything  about  the  churchyard  scuffle  at  home ;  but 
went  over  to  Baymouth,  and  took  counsel  with  his  friend 
Harry  Foker,  Esq.,  who  drove  over  his  drag  presently 
to  the  Clavering  Arms,  whence  he  sent  Stoopid  with  a 
note  to  Thomas  Hobnell,  Esq.,  at  the  Rev.  J.  Wapshot's, 
and  a  civil  message  to  ask  when  he  should  wait  upon  that 
gentleman. 

Stoopid  brought  back  word  that  the  note  had  been 
opened  by  Mr.  Hobnell,  and  read  to  half-a-dozen  of  the 
big  boys,  on  whom  it  seemed  to  make  a  great  impression ; 
and  that  after  consulting  together  and  laughing,  Mr. 
Hobnell  said  he  would  send  an  answer  "  arter  arternoon 
school,  which  the  bell  was  a  ringing :  and  Mr.  Wapshot, 
he  came  out  in  his  Master's  gownd."  Stoopid  was 
learned  in  academical  costume,  having  attended  Mr. 
Foker  at  St.  Boniface. 

Mr.  Foker  went  out  to  see  the  curiosities  of  Clavering 
meanwhile ;  but  not  having  a  taste  for  architecture,  Doc- 
tor Portman's  fine  church  did  not  engage  his  attention 
much,  and  he  pronounced  the  tower  to  be  as  mouldy  as 
an  old  Stilton  cheese.  He  walked  down  the  street  and 
looked  at  the  few  shops  there ;  he  saw  Captain  Glanders 
at  the  window  of  the  Reading-room,  and  having  taken  a 
good  stare  at  that  gentleman,  he  wagged  his  head  at  him 
in  token  of  satisfaction;  he  inquired  the  price  of  meat 
at  the  butcher's  with  an  air  of  the  greatest  interest,  and 
asked  "when  was  next  killing  day?"  he  flattened  his 
little  nose  against  Madame  Fribsby's  window  to  see 
if  haply  there  was  a  pretty  workwoman  in  her  premises; 
but  there  was  no  face  more  comely  than  the  doll's  or 
dummy's  wearing  the  French  cap  in  the  window,  only 


PENDENNIS 


221 


that  of  Madame  Fribsby  herself,  dimly  visible  in  the 
parlour,  reading  a  novel.  That  object  was  not  of  suf- 
ficient interest  to  keep  Mr.  Foker  very  long  in  contem- 


plation, and  so  having  exhausted  the  town  and  the  inn 
stables  in  which  there  were  no  cattle,  save  the  single 
old  pair  of  posters  that  earned  a  scanty  livelihood  by 
transporting  the  gentry  round  about  to  the  county  din- 
ners, Mr.  Foker  was  giving  himself  up  to  ennui  entirely, 


222  PENDENNIS 

when  a  messenger  from  Mr.  Hobnell  was  at  length 
announced. 

It  was  no  other  than  Mr.  Wapshot  himself,  who  came 
with  an  air  of  great  indignation,  and  holding  Pen's  mis- 
sive in  his  hand,  asked  Mr.  Foker  "  how  dared  he  bring 
such  an  unchristian  message  as  a  challenge  to  a  boy  of 
his  school? " 

In  fact  Pen  had  written  a  note  to  his  adversary  of 
the  day  before,  telling  him  that  if  after  the  chastisement 
which  his  insolence  richly  deserved,  he  felt  inclined  to 
ask  the  reparation  which  was  usually  given  amongst 
gentlemen,  Mr.  Arthur  Pendennis's  friend,  Mr.  Henry 
Foker,  was  empowered  to  make  any  arrangements  for 
the  satisfaction  of  Mr.  Hobnell. 

"  And  so  he  sent  you  with  the  answer— did  he,  sir?  " 
Mr.  Foker  said,  surveying  the  Schoolmaster  in  his  black 
coat  and  clerical  costume. 

"  If  he  had  accepted  this  wicked  challenge,  I  should 
have  flogged  him,"  Mr.  Wapshot  said,  and  gave  Mr. 
Foker  a  glance  which  seemed  to  say,  "  and  I  should  like 
very  much  to  flog  you  too." 

"  Uncommon  kind  of  you,  sir,  I'm  sure,"  said  Pen's 
emissary.  "  I  told  my  principal  that  I  didn't  think  the 
other  man  would  fight,"  he  continued  with  a  great  air 
of  dignity.  "  He  prefers  being  flogged  to  fighting,  sir, 
I  dare  say.  May  I  offer  you  any  refreshment,  Mr.  — ? 
I  haven't  the  advantage  of  your  name." 

"  My  name  is  Wapshot,  sir,  and  I  am  Master  of  the 
Grammar  School  of  this  town,  sir,"  cried  the  other: 
"  and  I  want  no  refreshment,  sir,  I  thank  you,  and  have 
no  desire  to  make  your  acquaintance,  sir." 

"  I  didn't  seek  yours,  sir,  I'm  sure,"  replied  Mr.  Foker. 
"  In  affairs  of  this  sort,  you  see,  I  think  it  is  a  pity  that 


PENDENNIS  223 

the  clergy  should  be  called  in,  but  there's  no  accounting 
for  tastes,  sir." 

"  I  think  it's  a  pity  that  boys  should  talk  about  com- 
mitting murder,  sir,  as  lightly  as  you  do,"  roared  the 
Schoolmaster;  "  and  if  I  had  you  in  my  school— 

"  I  dare  say  you  would  teach  me  better,  sir,"  Mr. 
Foker  said,  with  a  bow.  '  Thank  you,  sir.  I've  finished 
my  education,  sir,  and  ain't  a-going  back  to  school,  sir- 
when  I  do,  I'll  remember  your  kind  offer,  sir.  John, 
show  this  gentleman  down  stairs — and,  of  course,  as  Mr. 
Hobnell  likes  being  thrashed,  we  can  have  no  objection, 
sir,  and  we  shall  be  very  happy  to  accommodate  him, 
whenever  he  comes  our  way." 

And  with  this,  the  young  fellow  bowed  the  elder  gen- 
tleman out  of  the  room,  and  sate  down  and  wrote  a  note 
off  to  Pen,  in  which  he  informed  the  latter,  that  Mr. 
Hobnell  was  not  disposed  to  fight,  and  proposed  to  put 
up  with  the  caning  which  Pen  had  administered  to  him. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

WHICH  CONCLUDES  THE  FIRST  PART  OF  THIS  HISTORY 


EN'S  conduct  in  this 
business  of  course 
was  soon  made 
public,  and  an- 
gered his  friend 
Doctor  Port- 
man  not  a  lit- 
tle ;    while    it 
only    amused 
Major      Pen- 

dennis.  As  for  the  good  Mrs.  Pendennis, 
she  was  almost  distracted  when  she  heard  of 
the  squabble,  and  of  Pen's  unchristian  be- 
haviour. All  sorts  of  wretchedness,  dis- 
comfort, crime,  annoyance,  seemed  to  come  out  of  this 
transaction  in  which  the  luckless  boy  had  engaged:  and 
she  longed  more  than  ever  to  see  him  out  of  Chatteris 
for  a  while, — anywhere  removed  from  the  woman  who 
had  brought  him  into  so  much  trouble. 

Pen  when  remonstrated  with  by  this  fond  parent,  and 
angrily  rebuked  by  the  Doctor  for  his  violence  and  fe- 
rocious intentions,  took  the  matter  au  grand  scrieux,  with 
the  happy  conceit  and  gravity  of  youth:  said  that  he 
would  permit  no  man  to  insult  him  upon  this  head  with- 
out vindicating  his  own  honour,  and  appealing,  asked 

•N 


PENDENNIS  225 

whether  he  could  have  acted  otherwise  as  a  gentleman, 
than  as  he  did  in  resenting  the  outrage  offered  to  him, 
and  in  offering  satisfaction  to  the  person  chastised? 

"  Vous  allez  trop  vite,  my  good  sir,"  said  the  uncle, 
rather  puzzled,  for  he  had  been  indoctrinating  his  nephew 
with  some  of  his  own  notions  upon  the  point  of  honour- 
old-world  notions  savouring  of  the  camp  and  pistol  a 
great  deal  more  than  our  soberer  opinions  of  the  present 
day—  "  between  men  of  the  world  I  don't  say;  but  be- 
tween two  schoolboys,  this  sort  of  thing  is  ridiculous, 
my  dear  boy — perfectly  ridiculous." 

"  It  is  extremely  wicked,  and  unlike  my  son,"  said 
Mrs.  Pendennis,  with  tears  in  her  eyes;  and  bewildered 
with  the  obstinacy  of  the  boy. 

Pen   kissed   her,    and    said    with   great   pomposity, 
'  Women,  dear  mother,  don't  understand  these  matters 
— I  put  myself  into  Foker's  hands — I  had  no  other 
course  to  pursue." 

Major  Pendennis  grinned  and  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
The  young  ones  were  certainly  making  great  progress, 
he  thought.  Mrs.  Pendennis  declared  that  that  Foker 
was  a  wicked  horrid  little  wretch,  and  was  sure  that  he 
would  lead  her  dear  boy  into  mischief,  if  Pen  went  to 
the  same  college  with  him.  "  I  have  a  great  mind  not  to 
let  him  go  at  all,"  she  said :  and  only  that  she  remembered 
that  the  lad's  father  had  always  destined  him  for  the 
College  in  which  he  had  had  his  own  brief  education, 
very  likely  the  fond  mother  would  have  put  a  veto  upon 
his  going  to  the  University. 

That  he  was  to  go,  and  at  the  next  October  term,  had 
been  arranged  between  all  the  authorities  who  presided 
over  the  lad's  welfare.  Foker  had  promised  to  introduce 
him  to  the  right  set;  and  Major  Pendennis  laid  great 


226  PENDENNIS 

store  upon  Pen's  introduction  into  College  life  and  so- 
ciety by  this  admirable  young  gentleman.  "  Mr.  Foker 
knows  the  very  best  young  men  now  at  the  University," 
the  Major  said,  "  and  Pen  will  form  acquaintances  there 
who  will  be  of  the  greatest  advantage  through  life  to  him. 
The  young  Marquis  of  Plinlimmon  is  there,  eldest  son 
of  the  Duke  of  St.  David's — Lord  Magnus  Charters  is 
there,  Lord  Runnymede's  son ;  and  a  first  cousin  of  Mr. 
Foker,  ( Lady  Runnymede,  my  dear,  was  Lady  Agatha 
Milton,  you  of  course  remember,)  Lady  Agnes  will  cer- 
tainly invite  him  to  Logwood;  and  far  from  being 
alarmed  at  his  intimacy  with  her  son,  who  is  a  singular 
and  humorous,  but  most  prudent  and  amiable  young 
man,  to  whom,  I  am  sure,  we  are  under  every  obligation 
for  his  admirable  conduct  in  the  affair  of  the  Fotherin- 
gay  marriage,  I  look  upon  it  as  one  of  the  very  luckiest 
things  which  could  have  happened  to  Pen,  that  he  should 
have  formed  an  intimacy  with  this  most  amusing  young 
gentleman." 

Helen  sighed,  she  supposed  the  Major  knew  best. 
Mr.  Foker  had  been  very  kind  in  the  wretched  business 
with  Miss  Costigan,  certainly,  and  she  was  grateful  to 
him.  But  she  could  not  feel  otherwise  than  a  dim  pre- 
sentiment of  evil ;  and  all  these  quarrels,  and  riots,  and 
worldliness,  scared  her  about  the  fate  of  her  boy. 

Doctor  Portman  was  decidedly  of  opinion  that  Pen 
should  go  to  College.  He  hoped  the  lad  would  read, 
and  have  a  moderate  indulgence  of  the  best  society  too. 
He  was  of  opinion  that  Pen  would  distinguish  himself: 
Smirke  spoke  very  highly  of  his  proficiency :  the  Doctor 
himself  had  heard  him  construe,  and  thought  he  acquitted 
himself  remarkably  well.  That  he  should  go  out  of 
Chatteris  was  a  great  point  at  any  rate;  and  Pen,  who 


PENDENNIS  227 

was  distracted  from  his  private  grief  by  the  various 
rows  and  troubles  which  had  risen  round  about  him, 
gloomily  said  he  would  obey. 

There  were  assizes,  races,  and  the  entertainments  and 
the  flux  of  company  consequent  upon  them,  at  Chatteris, 
during  a  part  of  the  months  of  August  and  September, 
and  Miss  Fotheringay  still  continued  to  act,  and  take 
farewell  of  the  audiences  at  the  Chatteris  Theatre  during 
that  time.  Nobody  seemed  to  be  particularly  affected 
by  her  presence,  or  her  announced  departure,  except 
those  persons  whom  we  have  named;  nor  could  the  po- 
lite county  folks,  who  had  houses  in  London,  and  very 
likely  admired  the  Fotheringay  prodigiously  in  the  cap- 
ital, when  they  had  been  taught  to  do  so  by  the  Fashion 
which  set  in  in  her  favour,  find  anything  remarkable  in 
the  actress  performing  on  the  little  Chatteris  boards. 
Many  a  genius  and  many  a  quack,  for  that  matter,  has 
met  with  a  similar  fate  before  and  since  Miss  Costigan's 
time.  This  honest  woman  meanwhile  bore  up  against 
the  public  neglect,  and  any  other  crosses  or  vexations 
which  she  might  have  in  life,  with  her  usual  equanimity ; 
and  ate,  drank,  acted,  slept,  with  that  regularity  and 
comfort  which  belongs  to  people  of  her  temperament. 
What  a  deal  of  grief,  care,  and  other  harmful  excite- 
ment, does  a  healthy  dulness  and  cheerful  insensibility 
avoid !  Nor  do  I  mean  to  say  that  Virtue  is  not  Virtue 
because  it  is  never  tempted  to  go  astray ;  only  that  dul- 
ness is  a  much  finer  gift  than  we  give  it  credit  for  being, 
and  that  some  people  are  very  lucky  whom  Nature  has 
endowed  with  a  good  store  of  that  great  anodyne. 

Pen  used  to  go  drearily  in  and  out  from  the  play  at 
Chatteris  during  this  season,  and  pretty  much  accord- 
ing to  his  fancy.  His  proceedings  tortured  his  mother 


228  PENDENNIS 

not  a  little,  and  her  anxiety  would  have  led  her  often  to 
interfere,  had  not  the  Major  constantly  checked,  and 
at  the  same  time  encouraged  her;  for  the  wily  man  of 
the  world  fancied  he  saw  that  a  favourable  turn  had 
occurred  in  Pen's  malady.  It  was  the  violent  efflux  of 
versification,  among  other  symptoms,  which  gave  Pen's 
guardian  and  physician  satisfaction.  He  might  be  heard 
spouting  verses  in  the  shrubbery  walks,  or  muttering 
them  between  his  teeth  as  he  sat  with  the  home  party  of 
evenings.  One  day  prowling  about  the  house  in  Pen's 
absence,  the  Major  found  a  great  book  full  of  verses  in 
the  lad's  study.  They  were  in  English,  and  in  Latin; 
quotations  from  the  classic  authors  were  given  in  the 
scholastic  manner  in  the  foot-notes.  He  can't  be  very 
bad,  wisely  thought  the  Pall-Mall  Philosopher:  and  he 
made  Pen's  mother  remark  (not,  perhaps,  without  a 
secret  feeling  of  disappointment,  for  she  loved  romance 
like  other  soft  women),  that  the  young  gentleman  dur- 
ing the  last  fortnight  came  home  quite  hungry  to  dinner 
at  night,  and  also  showed  a  very  decent  appetite  at  the 
breakfast  table  in  the  morning.  "  Gad,  I  wish  I  could," 
said  the  Major,  thinking  ruefully  of  his  dinner  pills. 
*  The  boy  begins  to  sleep  well,  depend  upon  that."  It 
was  cruel,  but  it  was  true. 

Having  no  other  soul  to  confide  in,  the  lad's  friend- 
ship for  the  Curate  redoubled,  or  rather,  he  was  never 
tired  of  having  Smirke  for  a  listener  on  that  one  subject. 
What  is  a  lover  without  a  confidant?  Pen  employed 
Mr.  Smirke,  as  Corydon  does  the  elm-tree,  to  cut  out 
his  mistress's  name  upon.  He  made  him  echo  with  the 
name  of  the  beautiful  Amaryllis.  When  men  have  left 
off  playing  the  tune,  they  do  not  care  much  for  the 
pipe:  but  Pen  thought  he  had  a  great  friendship  for 


PENDENNIS  229 

Smirke,  because  he  could  sigh  out  his  loves  and  griefs 
into  his  tutor's  ears;  and  Smirke  had  his  own  reasons 
for  always  being  ready  at  the  lad's  call. 

The  poor  Curate  was  naturally  very  much  dismayed 
at  the  contemplated  departure  of  his  pupil.  When  Ar- 
thur should  go,  Smirke's  occupation  and  delight  would 
go  too.  What  pretext  could  he  find  for  a  daily  visit  to 
Fairoaks,  and  that  kind  word  or  glance  from  the  lady 
there,  which  was  as  necessary  to  the  Curate  as  the  frugal 
dinner  which  Madame  Fribsby  served  him?  Arthur 
gone,  he  would  only  be  allowed  to  make  visits  like  any 
other  acquaintance:  little  Laura  could  not  accommo- 
date him  by  learning  the  Catechism  more  than  once  a 
week:  he  had  curled  himself  like  ivy  round  Fairoaks: 
he  pined  at  the  thought  that  he  must  lose  his  hold  of  the 
place.  Should  he  speak  his  mind  and  go  down  on  his 
knees  to  the  widow  ?  He  thought  over  any  indications  in 
her  behaviour  which  flattered  his  hopes.  She  had  praised 
his  sermon  three  weeks  before:  she  had  thanked  him 
exceedingly  for  his  present  of  a  melon,  for  a  small  din- 
ner party  which  Mrs.  Pendennis  gave:  she  said  she 
should  always  be  grateful  to  him  for  his  kindness  to 
Arthur :  and  when  he  declared  that  there  were  no  bounds 
to  his  love  and  affection  for  that  dear  boy,  she  had  cer- 
tainly replied  in  a  romantic  manner,  indicating  her  own 
strong  gratitude  and  regard  to  all  her  son's  friends. 
Should  he  speak  out? — or  should  he  delay?  If  he  spoke 
and  she  refused  him,  it  was  awful  to  think  that  the  gate 
of  Fairoaks  might  be  shut  upon  him  for  ever — and 
within  that  door  lay  all  the  world  for  Mr.  Smirke. 

Thus,  oh  friendly  readers,  we  see  how  every  man  in 
the  world,  has  his  own  private  griefs  and  business,  by 
which  he  is  more  cast  down  or  occupied  than  by  the  af- 


230  PENDENNIS 

fairs  or  sorrows  of  any  other  person.  While  Mrs.  Pen- 
dennis  is  disquieting  herself  about  losing  her  son,  and 
that  anxious  hold  she  has  had  of  him,  as  long  as  he  has 
remained  in  the  mother's  nest,  whence  he  is  about  to  take 
flight  into  the  great  world  beyond — while  the  Major's 
great  soul  chafes  and  frets,  inwardly  vexed  as  he  thinks 
what  great  parties  are  going  on  in  London,  and  that  he 
might  be  sunning  himself  in  the  glances  of  Dukes  and 
Duchesses,  but  for  those  cursed  affairs  which  keep  him 
in  a  wretched  little  country  hole — while  Pen  is  tossing 
between  his  passion  and  a  more  agreeable  sensation, 
unacknowledged  yet,  but  swaying  him  considerably, 
namely,  his  longing  to  see  the  world — Mr.  Smirke  has 
a  private  care  watching  at  his  bed  side,  and  sitting  be- 
hind him  on  his  pony ;  and  is  no  more  satisfied  than  the 
rest  of  us.  How  lonely  we  are  in  the  world !  how  selfish 
and  secret,  everybody !  You  and  your  wife  have  pressed 
the  same  pillow  for  forty  years  and  fancy  yourself 
united. — Psha,  does  she  cry  out  when  you  have  the  gout, 
or  do  you  lie  awake  when  she  has  the  tooth-ache  ?  Your 
artless  daughter  seemingly  all  innocence  and  devoted  to 
her  mamma  and  her  piano-lesson,  is  thinking  of  neither, 
but  of  the  young  Lieutenant  with  whom  she  danced  at 
the  last  ball— the  honest  frank  boy  just  returned  from 
school  is  secretly  speculating  upon  the  money  you  will 
give  him,  and  the  debts  he  owes  the  tart-man.  The  old 
grandmother  crooning  in  the  corner  and  bound  to  an- 
other world  within  a  few  months,  has  some  business  or 
cares  which  are  quite  private  and  her  own— very  likely 
she  is  thinking  of  fifty  years  back,  and  that  night  when 
she  made  such  an  impression,  and  danced  a  cotillon  with 
the  Captain  before  your  father  proposed  for  her:  or, 
what  a  silly  little  over-rated  creature  your  wife  is,  and 


PENDENNIS  231 

how  absurdly  you  are  infatuated  about  her— and,  as  for 
your  wife — O  philosophic  reader,  answer  and  say, — Do 
you  tell  her  all?  Ah,  sir — a  distinct  universe  walks  about 
under  your  hat  and  under  mine— all  things  in  nature  are 
different  to  each— the  woman  we  look  at  has  not  the 
same  features,  the  dish  we  eat  from  has  not  the  same 
taste  to  the  one  and  the  other — you  and  I  are  but  a  pair 
of  infinite  isolations,  with  some  fellow-islands  a  little 
more  or  less  near  to  us.  Let  us  return,  however,  to  the 
solitary  Smirke. 

Smirke  had  one  confidant  for  his  passion — that  most 
injudicious  woman,  Madame  Fribsby.  How  she  became 
Madame  Fribsby,  nobody  knows:  she  had  left  Claver- 
ing  to  go  to  a  milliner's  in  London  as  Miss  Fribsby— 
she  pretended  that  she  had  got  the  rank  in  Paris  during 
her  residence  in  that  city.  But  how  could  the  Frehch 
king,  were  he  ever  so  much  disposed,  give  her  any  such 
title?  We  shall  not  inquire  into  this  mystery,  however. 
Suffice  to  say,  she  went  away  from  home  a  bouncing 
young  lass ;  she  returned  a  rather  elderly  character,  with 
a  Madonna  front  and  a  melancholy  countenance— 
bought  the  late  Mrs.  Harbottle's  business  for  a  song- 
took  her  elderly  mother  to  live  with  her ;  was  very  good 
to  the  poor,  was  constant  at  church,  and  had  the  best  of 
characters.  But  there  was  no  one  in  all  Clavering,  not 
Mrs.  Portman  herself,  who  read  so  many  novels  as  Ma- 
dame Fribsby.  She  had  plenty  of  time  for  this  amuse- 
ment, for,  in  truth,  very  few  people  besides  the  folks  at 
the  Rectory  and  Fairoaks  employed  her;  and  by  a  per- 
petual perusal  of  such  works  (which  were  by  no  means 
so  moral  or  edifying  in  the  days  of  which  we  write,  as 
they  are  at  present ) ,  she  had  got  to  be  so  absurdly  sen- 
timental, that  in  her  eyes  life  was  nothing  but  an  im- 


232  PENDENNIS 

mense  love-match;  and  she  never  could  see  two  people 
together,  but  she  fancied  they  were  dying  for  one  an- 
other. 

On  the  day  after  Mrs.  Pendennis's  visit  to  the  Curate, 
which  we  have  recorded  many  pages  back,  Madame 
Fribsby  settled  in  her  mind  that  Mr.  Smirke  must  be  in 
love  with  the  widow,  and  did  everything  in  her  power 
to  encourage  this  passion  on  both  sides.  Mrs.  Penden- 
nis  she  very  seldom  saw,  indeed,  except  in  public,  and  in 
her  pew  at  church.  That  lady  had  very  little  need  of 
millinery,  or  made  most  of  her  own  dresses  and  caps; 
but  on  the  rare  occasions  when  Madame  Fribsby  received 
visits  from  Mrs.  Pendennis,  or  paid  her  respects  at  Fair- 
oaks,  she  never  failed  to  entertain  the  widow  with  praises 
of  the  Curate,  pointing  out  what  an  angelical  man  he 
was,  how  gentle,  how  studious,  how  lonely ;  and  she  would 
wonder  that  no  lady  would  take  pity  upon  him. 

Helen  laughed  at  these  sentimental  remarks,  and  won- 
dered that  Madame  herself  did  not  compassionate  her 
lodger,  and  console  him.  Madame  Fribsby  shook  her 
Madonna  front.  "  Mong  cure  a  boco  sou/fare/'  she  said, 
laying  her  hand  on  the  part  she  designated  as  her  cure. 
"  II  est  more  en  Espang,  Madame"  she  said  with  a  sigh. 
She  was  proud  of  her  intimacy  with  the  French  lan- 
guage, and  spoke  it  with  more  volubility  than  correct- 
ness. Mrs.  Pendennis  did  not  care  to  penetrate  the 
secrets  of  this  wounded  heart:  except  to  her  few  inti- 
mates she  was  a  reserved,  and  it  may  be  a  very  proud 
woman;  she  looked  upon  her  son's  tutor  merely  as  an 
attendant  on  that  young  Prince,  to  be  treated  with  re- 
spect as  a  clergyman  certainly,  but  with  proper  dignity 
as  a  dependant  on  the  house  of  Pendennis.  Nor  were 
Madame's  constant  allusions  to  the  Curate  particularly 


The  Curate's  Confidante 


PENDENNIS  233 

agreeable  to  her.  It  required  a  very  ingenious  senti- 
mental turn  indeed  to  find  out  that  the  widow  had  a 
secret  regard  for  Mr.  Smirke,  to  which  pernicious  error 
however  Madame  Fribsby  persisted  in  holding. 

Her  lodger  was  very  much  more  willing  to  talk  on  this 
subject  with  his  soft-hearted  landlady.  Every  time  after 
that  she  praised  the  Curate  to  Mrs.  Pendennis,  she  came 
away  from  the  latter  with  the  notion  that  the  widow  her- 
self had  been  praising  him.  "  Eire  soul  au  monde  est 
bien  ouneeyong,"  she  would  say,  glancing  up  at  a  print 
of  a  French  carbineer  in  a  green  coat  and  brass  cuirass 
which  decorated  her  apartment — "  Depend  upon  it  when 
Master  Pendennis  goes  to  college,  his  Ma  will  find  her- 
self very  lonely.  She  is  quite  young  yet. — You  wouldn't 
suppose  her  to  be  five-and-twenty.  Monsieur  le  Curyf 
song  cure  est  touchy— j'ong  suissure—Je  conny  cela 
biang—Ally  Monsieur  Smirke" 

He  softly  blushed;  he  sighed;  he  hoped;  he  feared; 
he  doubted ;  he  sometimes  yielded  to  the  delightful  idea 
—his  pleasure  was  to  sit  in  Madame  Fribsby 's  apart- 
ment, and  talk  upon  the  subject,  where,  as  the  greater 
part  of  the  conversation  was  carried  on  in  French  by  the 
Milliner,  and  her  old  mother  was  deaf,  that  retired  old 
individual  (who  had  once  been  a  housekeeper,  wife  and 
widow  of  a  butler  in  the  Clavering  family)  could  under- 
stand scarce  one  syllable  of  their  talk. 

When  Major  Pendennis  announced  to  his  nephew's 
tutor  that  the  young  fellow  would  go  to  College  in  Octo- 
ber, and  that  Mr.  Smirke's  valuable  services  would  no 
longer  be  needful  to  his  pupil,  for  which  services  the 
Major,  who  spoke  as  grandly  as  a  lord,  professed  him- 
self exceedingly  grateful,  and  besought  Mr.  Smirke  to 
command  his  interest  in  any  way— the  Curate  felt  that 


234  PENDENNIS 

the  critical  moment  was  come  for  him,  and  was  racked 
and  tortured  by  those  severe  pangs  which  the  occasion 
warranted. 

And  now  that  Arthur  was  going  away,  Helen's  heart 
was  rather  softened  towards  the  Curate,  from  whom, 
perhaps  divining  his  intentions,  she  had  shrunk  hitherto: 
she  bethought  her  how  very  polite  Mr.  Smirke  had  been ; 
how  he  had  gone  on  messages  for  her;  how  he  had 
brought  books  and  copied  music;  how  he  had  taught 
Laura  so  many  things,  and  given  her  so  many  kind  pres- 
ents. Her  heart  smote  her  on  account  of  her  ingratitude 
towards  the  Curate: — so  much  so,  that  one  afternoon 
when  he  came  down  from  study  with  Pen,  and  was  han- 
kering about  the  hall  previous  to  his  departure,  she  went 
out  and  shook  hands  with  him  with  rather  a  blushing 
face,  and  begged  him  to  come  into  her  drawing-room, 
where  she  said  they  now  never  saw  him.  And  as 
there  was  to  be  rather  a  good  dinner  that  day,  she 
invited  Mr.  Smirke  to  partake  of  it;  and  we  may  be 
sure  that  he  was  too  happy  to  accept  such  a  delightful 
summons. 

Helen  was  exceedingly  kind  and  gracious  to  Mr. 
Smirke  during  dinner,  redoubling  her  attentions,  per- 
haps because  Major  Pendennis  was  very  high  and  re- 
served with  his  nephew's  tutor.  When  Pendennis  asked 
Smirke  to  drink  wine,  he  addressed  him  as  if  he  was  a 
Sovereign  speaking  to  a  petty  retainer,  in  a  manner  so 
condescending,  that  even  Pen  laughed  at  it,  although 
quite  ready,  for  his  part,  to  be  as  conceited  as  most  young 
men  are. 

But  Smirke  did  not  care  for  the  impertinences  of  the 
Major  so  long  as  he  had  his  hostess's  kind  behaviour; 
and  he  passed  a  delightful  time  by  her  side  at  table,  ex- 


PENDENNIS  235 

erting  all  his  powers  of  conversation  to  please  her,  talk- 
ing in  a  manner  both  clerical  and  worldly,  about  the 
fancy  Bazaar,  and  the  Great  Missionary  Meeting,  about 
the  last  new  novel,  and  the  Bishop's  excellent  sermon— 
about  the  fashionable  parties  in  London,  an  account  of 
which  he  read  in  the  newspapers— in  fine,  he  neglected 
no  art,  by  which  a  College  divine  who  has  both  sprightly 
and  serious  talents,  a  taste  for  the  genteel,  an  irreproach- 
able conduct,  and  a  susceptible  heart,  will  try  and  make 
himself  agreeable  to  the  person  on  whom  he  has  fixed 
his  affections. 

Major  Pendennis  came  yawning  out  of  the  dining- 
room  very  soon  after  his  sister  and  little  Laura  had  left 
the  apartment. 

Now  Arthur,  flushed  with  a  good  deal  of  pride  at  the 
privilege  of  having  the  keys  of  the  cellar,  and  remem- 
bering that  a  very  few  more  dinners  would  probably 
take  place  which  he  and  his  dear  friend  Smirke  could 
share,  had  brought  up  a  liberal  supply  of  claret  for  the 
company's  drinking,  and  when  the  elders  with  little 
Laura  left  him,  he  and  the  Curate  began  to  pass  the  wine 
very  freely. 

One  bottle  speedily  yielded  up  the  ghost,  another  shed 
more  than  half  its  blood,  before  the  two  topers  had  been 
much  more  than  half  an  hour  together — Pen,  with  a  hol- 
low laugh  and  voice,  had  drunk  off  one  bumper  to  the 
falsehood  of  women,  and  had  said  sardonically,  that  wine 
at  any  rate  was  a  mistress  who  never  deceived,  and  was 
sure  to  give  a  man  a  welcome. 

Smirke  gently  said  that  he  knew  for  his  part  some 
women  who  were  all  truth  and  tenderness;  and  casting 
up  his  eyes  towards  the  ceiling,  and  heaving  a  sigh  as  if 
evoking  some  being  dear  and  unmentionable,  he  took  up 


236  PENDENNIS 

his  glass  and  drained  it,  and  the  rosy  liquor  began  to 
suffuse  his  face. 

Pen  trolled  over  some  verses  he  had  been  making  that 
morning,  in  which  he  informed  himself  that  the  woman 
who  had  slighted  his  passion  could  not  be  worthy  to  win 
it:  that  he  was  awaking  from  love's  mad  fever,  and,  of 
course,  under  these  circumstances,  proceeded  to  leave  her, 
and  to  quit  a  heartless  deceiver :  that  a  name  which  had 
one  day  been  famous  in  the  land,  might  again  be  heard 
in  it :  and,  that  though  he  never  should  be  the  happy  and 
careless  boy  he  was  but  a  few  months  since,  or  his  heart 
be  what  it  had  been  ere  passion  had  filled  it  and  grief 
had  well-nigh  killed  it;  that  though  to  him  personally 
death  was  as  welcome  as  life,  and  that  he  would  not  hes- 
itate to  part  with  the  latter,  but  for  the  love  of  one  kind 
being  whose  happiness  depended  on  his  own, — yet  he 
hoped  to  show  he  was  a  man  worthy  of  his  race,  and  that 
one  day  the  false  one  should  be  brought  to  know  how 
great  was.  the  treasure  and  noble  the  heart  which  she  had 
flung  away. 

Pen,  we  say,  who  was  a  very  excitable  person,  rolled 
out  these  verses  in  his  rich  sweet  voice,  which  trembled 
with  emotion  whilst  our  young  poet  spoke.  He  had  a 
trick  of  blushing  when  in  this  excited  state,  and  his  large 
and  honest  grey  eyes  also  exhibited  proofs  of  a  sensi- 
bility so  genuine,  hearty,  and  manly,  that  Miss  Costigan, 
if  she  had  a  heart,  must  needs  have  softened  towards 
him ;  and  very  likely  she  was,  as  he  said,  altogether  un- 
worthy of  the  affection  which  he  lavished  upon  her. 

The  sentimental  Smirke  was  caught  by  the  emotion 
which  agitated  his  young  friend.  He  grasped  Pen's 
hand  over  the  dessert  dishes  and  wine  glasses.  He  said 
the  verses  were  beautiful :  that  Pen  was  a  poet,  a  great 


PENDENNIS  237 

poet,  and  likely  by  Heaven's  permission  to  run  a  great 
career  in  the  world.  "  Go  on  and  prosper,  dear  Arthur," 
he  cried:  "the  wounds  under  which  at  present  you 
suffer  are  only  temporary,  and  the  very  grief  you  en- 
dure will  cleanse  and  strengthen  your  heart.  I  have 
always  prophesied  the  greatest  and  brightest  things  of 
you,  as  soon  as  you  have  corrected  some  failings  and 
weaknesses  of  character,  which  at  present  belong  to  you. 
But  you  will  get  over  these,  my  boy,  you  will  get  over 
these;  and  when  you  are  famous  and  celebrated,  as  I 
know  you  will  be,  will  you  remember  your  old  tutor  and 
the  happy  early  days  of  your  youth?  " 

Pen  swore  he  would :  with  another  shake  of  the  hand 
across  the  glasses  and  apricots.  "  I  shall  never  forget 
how  kind  you  have  been  to  me,  Smirke,"  he  said.  "  I 
don't  know  what  I  should  have  done  without  you.  You 
are  my  best  friend." 

"  Am  I  really,  Arthur?  "  said  Smirke,  looking  through 
his  spectacles;  and  his  heart  began  to  beat  so  that  he 
thought  Pen  must  almost  hear  it  throbbing. 

"  My  best  friend,  my  friend  for  ever"  Pen  said. 
"God  bless  you,  old  boy,"  and  he  drank  up  the  last 
glass  of  the  second  bottle  of  the  famous  wine  which  his 
father  had  laid  in,  which  his  uncle  had  bought,  which 
Lord  Levant  had  imported,  and  which  now,  like  a  slave 
indifferent,  was  ministering  pleasure  to  its  present 
owner,  and  giving  its  young  master  delectation. 

'  We'll  have  another  bottle,  old  boy,"  Pen  said,  "  by 
Jove  we  will.  Hurray!— claret  goes  for  nothing.  My 
uncle  was  telling  me  that  he  saw  Sheridan  drink  five 
bottles  at  Brookes's,  besides  a  bottle  of  Maraschino. 
This  is  some  of  the  finest  wine  in  England,  he  says.  So 
it  is  by  Jove.  There's  nothing  like  it.  Nunc  vino  pellite 


288  PENDENNIS 

euros — eras  ingens  iterabimus  ceq— fill  your  glass,  Old 
Smirke,  a  hogshead  of  it  won't  do  you  any  harm."  And 
Mr.  Pen  began  to  sing  the  drinking  song  out  of  "  Der 
Freischiitz."  The  dining-room  windows  were  open,  and 
his  mother  was  softly  pacing  on  the  lawn  outside,  while 
little  Laura  was  looking  at  the  sunset.  The  sweet  fresh 
notes  of  the  boy's  voice  came  to  the  widow.  It  cheered 
her  kind  heart  to  hear  him  sing. 

'  You — you  are  taking  too  much  wine,  Arthur,"  Mr. 
Smirke  said  softly — "  you  are  exciting  yourself." 

"  No,"  said  Pen,  "  women  give  headaches,  but  this 
don't.  Fill  your  glass,  old  fellow,  and  let's  drink — I 
say,  Smirke,  my  boy — let's  drink  to  her— your  her,  I 
mean,  not  mine,  for  whom  I  swear  I'll  care  no  more— 
no,  not  a  penny — no,  not  a  fig — no,  not  a  glass  of  wine. 
Tell  us  about  the  lady,  Smirke ;  I've  often  seen  you  sigh- 
ing about  her." 

"  Oh!  "  said  Smirke — and  his  beautiful  cambric  shirt 
front  and  glistening  studs  heaved  with  the  emotion  which 
agitated  his  gentle  and  suffering  bosom. 

"  Oh — what  a  sigh!  "  Pen  cried,  growing  very  hilari- 
ous :  "  fill,  my  boy,  and  drink  the  toast,  you  can't  refuse 
a  toast,  no  gentleman  refuses  a  toast.  Here's  her 
health,  and  good  luck  to  you,  and  may  she  soon  be  Mrs. 
Smirke." 

"  Do  you  say  so? "  Smirke  said,  all  of  a  tremble. 
"  Do  you  really  say  so,  Arthur?  " 

"  Say  so ;  of  course,  I  say  so.  Down  with  it.  Here's 
Mrs.  Smirke's  good  health:  Hip,  hip,  hurray!  " 

Smirke  convulsively  gulped  down  his  glass  of  wine, 
and  Pen  waved  his  over  his  head,  cheering  so  as  to  make 
his  mother  and  Laura  wonder  on  the  lawn,  and  his  uncle, 
who  was  dozing  over  the  paper  in  the  drawing-room, 


PENDENNIS  239 

start,  and  say  to  himself,  "  that  boy's  drinking  too  much." 
Smirke  put  down  the  glass. 

"  I  accept  the  omen,"  gasped  out  the  blushing  Curate. 
"  Oh,  my  dear  Arthur,  you— you  know  her— 

"  What— Mira  Portman?  I  wish  you  joy:  she's  got 
a  dev'lish  large  waist;  but  I  wish  you  joy,  old  fellow." 

"  Oh,  Arthur!  "  groaned  the  Curate  again,  and  nod- 
ded his  head,  speechless. 

"  Beg  your  pardon — sorry  I  offended  you — but  she 
has  got  a  large  waist,  you  know — devilish  large  waist," 
Pen  continued — the  third  bottle  evidently  beginning  to 
act  upon  the  young  gentleman. 

"  It's  not  Miss  Portman,"  the  other  said,  in  a  voice 
of  agony. 

"  Is  it  anybody  at  Chatteris  or  at  Clapham?  Some- 
body here?  No — it  ain't  old  Pybus?  it  can't  be  Miss  Rolt 
at  the  Factory — she's  only  fourteen." 

"  It's  somebody  rather  older  than  I  am,  Pen,"  the 
Curate  cried,  looking  up  at  his  friend,  and  then  guiltily 
casting  his  eyes  down  into  his  plate. 

Pen  burst  out  laughing.  "  It's  Madame  Fribsby,  by 
Jove,  it's  Madame  Fribsby.  Madame  Frib.  by  the  im- 
mortal Gods!" 

The  Curate  could  contain  no  more.  "  O  Pen,"  he 
cried,  "  how  can  you  suppose  that  any  of  those — of  those 
more  than  ordinary  beings  you  have  named— could  have 
an  influence  upon  this  heart,  when  I  have  been  daily  in 
the  habit  of  contemplating  perfection !  I  may  be  insane, 
I  may  be  madly  ambitious,  I  may  be  presumptuous— 
but  for  two  years  my  heart  has  been  filled  by  one  image, 
and  has  known  no  other  idol.  Haven't  I  loved  you  as  a 
son,  Arthur? — say,  hasn't  Charles  Smirke  loved  you  as 
a  son  ? " 


240  PENDENNIS 

'  Yes,  old  boy,  you've  been  very  good  to  me,"  Pen 
said,  whose  liking,  however,  for  his  tutor  was  not  by  any 
means  of  the  filial  kind. 

"  My  means,"  rushed  on  Smirke,  "  are  at  present  lim- 
ited, I  own,  and  my  mother  is  not  so  liberal  as  might  be 
desired;  but  what  she  has  will  be  mine  at  her  death. 
Were  she  to  hear  of  my  marrying  a  lady  of  rank  and 
good  fortune,  my  mother  would  be  liberal,  I  am  sure  she 
would  be  liberal.  Whatever  I  have  or  subsequently  in- 
herit—and it's  five  hundred  a  year  at  the  very  least- 
would  be  settled  upon  her,  and— and— and  you  at  my 
death— that  is—" 

'  What  the  deuce  do  you  mean? — and  what  have  I  to 
do  with  your  money?  "  cried  out  Pen,  in  a  puzzle. 

"  Arthur,  Arthur!  "  exclaimed  the  other  wildly;  "  you 
say  I  am  your  dearest  friend— Let  me  be  more.  Oh, 
can't  you  see  that  the  angelic  being  I  love— the  purest, 
the  best  of  women — is  no  other  than  your  dear,  dear 
angel  of  a — mother." 

"  My  mother!  "  cried  out  Arthur,  jumping  up  and 
sober  in  a  minute.  "  Pooh!  damn  it,  Smirke,  you  must 
be  mad— she's  seven  or  eight  years  older  than  you  are." 

"  Did  you  find  that  any  objection?  "  cried  Smirke  pit- 
eously,  and  alluding,  of  course,  to  the  elderly  subject 
of  Pen's  own  passion. 

The  lad  felt  the  hint,  and  blushed  quite  red.  "  The 
cases  are  not  similar,  Smirke,"  he  said,  "  and  the  allusion 
might  have  been  spared.  A  man  may  forget  his  own 
rank  and  elevate  any  woman  to  it ;  but  allow  me  to  say 
our  positions  are  very  different." 

"  How  do  you  mean,  dear  Arthur?  "  the  Curate  inter- 
posed sadly,  cowering  as  he  felt  that  his  sentence  was 
about  to  be  read. 


PENDENNIS  241 

"  Mean?  "  said  Arthur.  "  I  mean  what  I  say.  My 
tutor,  I  say  my  tutor,  has  no  right  to  ask  a  lady  of  my 
mother's  rank  of  life  to  marry  him.  It's  a  breach  of  con- 
fidence. I  say  it's  a  liberty  you  take,  Smirke— it's  a 
liberty.  Mean,  indeed !  " 

"  O  Arthur!  "  the  Curate  began  to  cry  with  clasped 
hands,  and  a  scared  face,  but  Arthur  gave  another  stamp 
with  his  foot,  and  began  to  pull  at  the  bell.  "  Don't  let's 
have  any  more  of  this.  We'll  have  some  coffee,  if  you 
please,"  he  said  with  a  majestic  air:  and  the  old  butler 
entering  at  the  summons,  Arthur  bade  him  to  serve  that 
refreshment. 

John  said  he  had  just  carried  coffee  into  the  drawing- 
room,  where  his  uncle  was  asking  for  Master  Arthur, 
and  the  old  man  gave  a  glance  of  wonder  at  the  three 
empty  claret-bottles.  Smirke  said  he  thought  he'd— 
he'd  rather  not  go  into  the  drawing-room,  on  which  Ar- 
thur haughtily  said  "  As  you  please,"  and  called  for  Mr. 
Smirke's  horse  to  be  brought  round.  The  poor  fellow 
said  he  knew  the  way  to  the  stable  and  would  get  his  pony 
himself,  and  he  went  into  the  hall  and  sadly  put  on  his 
coat  and  hat. 

Pen  followed  him  out  uncovered.  Helen  was  still 
walking  up  and  down  the  soft  lawn  as  the  sun  was  set- 
ting, and  the  Curate  took  off  his  hat  and  bowed  by  way 
of  farewell,  and  passed  on  to  the  door  leading  to  the 
stable  court  by  which  the  pair  disappeared.  Smirke 
knew  the  way  to  the  stable,  as  he  said,  well  enough.  He 
fumbled  at  the  girths  of  the  saddle,  which  Pen  fastened 
for  him,  and  put  on  the  bridle  and  led  the  pony  into  the 
yard.  The  boy  was  touched  by  the  grief  which  appeared 
in  the  other's  face  as  he  mounted.  Pen  held  out  his 
hand,  and  Smirke  wrung  it  silently. 


242  PENDENNIS 

"  I  say,  Smirke,"  he  said  in  an  agitated  voice,  "  forgive 
me  if  I  have  said  anything  harsh — for  you  have  always 
been  very,  very  kind  to  me.  But  it  can't  be,  old  fellow, 
it  can't  be.  Be  a  man.  God  bless  you." 

Smirke  nodded  his  head  silently,  and  rode  out  of  the 
lodge  gate:  and  Pen  looked  after  him  for  a  couple  of 
minutes,  until  he  disappeared  down  the  road,  and  the 
clatter  of  the  pony's  hoofs  died  away.  Helen  was 
still  lingering  on  the  lawn  waiting  until  the  boy  came 
back — she  put  his  hair  off  his  forehead  and  kissed  it 
fondly.  She  was  afraid  he  had  been  drinking  too 
much  wine.  Why  had  Mr.  Smirke  gone  away  without 
any  tea? 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  kind  humour  beaming  in  his 
eyes;  "  Smirke  is  unwell,"  he  said  with  a  laugh.  For  a 
long  while  Helen  had  not  seen  the  boy  looking  so  cheer- 
ful. He  put  his  arm  round  her  waist,  and  walked  her  up 
and  down  the  walk  in  front  of  the  house.  Laura  began 
to  drub  on  the  drawing-room  window  and  nod  and  laugh 
from  it.  "  Come  along  you  two  people,"  cried  out  Major 
Pendennis,  "  your  coffee  is  getting  quite  cold." 

When  Laura  was  gone  to  bed,  Pen,  who  was  big  with 
his  secret,  burst  out  with  it,  and  described  the  dismal 
but  ludicrous  scene  which  had  occurred.  Helen  heard 
of  it  with  many  blushes,  which  became  her  pale  face 
very  well,  and  a  perplexity  which  Arthur  roguishly 
enjoyed. 

"  Confound  the  fellow's  impudence,"  Major  Penden- 
nis said  as  he  took  his  candle,  "  where  will  the  assurance 
of  these  people  stop?  "  Pen  and  his  mother  had  a  long 
talk  that  night,  full  of  love,  confidence,  and  laughter, 
and  the  boy  somehow  slept  more  soundly  and  woke  up 
more  easily  than  he  had  done  for  many  months  before. 


PENDENNIS  243 

Before  the  great  Mr.  Dolphin  quitted  Chatteris,  he 
not  only  made  an  advantageous  engagement  with  Miss 
Fotheringay,  but  he  liberally  left  with  her  a  sum  of 
money  to  pay  off  any  debts  which  the  little  family  might 
have  contracted  during  their  stay  in  the  place,  and  which, 
mainly  through  the  lady's  own  economy  and  manage- 
ment, were  not  considerable.  The  small  account  with 
the  spirit  merchant,  which  Major  Pendennis  had  settled, 
was  the  chief  of  Captain  Costigan's  debts,  and  though 
the  Captain  at  one  time  talked  about  repaying  every 
farthing  of  the  money,  it  never  appears  that  he  executed 
his  menace,  nor  did  the  laws  of  honour  in  the  least  call 
upon  him  to  accomplish  that  threat. 

When  Miss  Costigan  had  seen  all  the  outstanding  bills 
paid  to  the  uttermost  shilling,  she  handed  over  the  bal- 
ance to  her  father,  who  broke  out  into  hospitalities  to  all 
his  friends,  gave  the  little  Creeds  more  apples  and  gin- 
gerbread than  he  had  ever  bestowed  upon  them,  so  that 
the  widow  Creed  ever  after  held  the  memory  of  her 
lodger  in  veneration,  and  the  young  ones  wept  bitterly 
when  he  went  away;  and  in  a  word  managed  the  money  so 
cleverly  that  it  was  entirely  expended  before  many  days, 
and  he  was  compelled  to  draw  upon  Mr.  Dolphin  for  a 
sum  to  pay  for  travelling  expenses  when  the  time  of 
their  departure  arrived. 

There  was  held  at  an  inn  in  that  county  town  a  weekly 
meeting  of  a  festive,  almost  a  riotous  character,  of  a  so- 
ciety of  gentlemen  who  called  themselves  the  Buccaneers. 
Some  of  the  choice  spirits  of  Chatteris  belonged  to  this 
cheerful  Club.  Graves,  the  apothecary  (than  whom  a 
better  fellow  never  put  a  pipe  in  his  mouth  and  smoked 
it),  Smart,  the  talented  and  humorous  portrait-painter 
of  High  Street,  Croker,  an  excellent  auctioneer,  and 


244  PENDENNIS 

the  uncompromising  Hicks,  the  able  Editor  for  twenty- 
three  years  of  the  County  Chronicle  and  Chatteris  Cham- 
pion, were  amongst  the  crew  of  the  Buccaneers,  whom 
also  Bingley,  the  manager,  liked  to  join  of  a  Saturday 
evening,  whenever  he  received  permission  from  his  lady. 

Costigan  had  been  also  an  occasional  Buccaneer.  But 
a  want  of  punctuality  of  payments  had  of  late  somewhat 
excluded  him  from  the  Society,  where  he  was  subject  to 
disagreeable  remarks  from  the  landlord,  who  said  that 
a  Buccaneer  who  didn't  pay  his  shot  was  utterly  un- 
worthy to  be  a  Marine  Bandit.  But  when  it  became 
known  to  the  'Ears,  as  the  Clubbists  called  themselves 
familiarly,  that  Miss  Fotheringay  had  made  a  splendid 
engagement,  a  great  revolution  of  feeling  took  place 
in  the  Club  regarding  Captain  Costigan.  Solly,  mine 
host  of  the  Grapes,  told  the  gents  in  the  Buccaneers' 
room  one  night  how  noble  the  Captain  had  beayved; 
having  been  round  and  paid  off  all  his  ticks  in  Chatteris, 
including  his  score  of  three  pound  fourteen  here— and 
pronounced  that  Cos  was  a  good  fellar,  a  gentleman  at 
bottom,  and  he,  Solly,  had  always  said  so,  and  finally 
worked  upon  the  feelings  of  the  Buccaneers  to  give  the 
Captain  a  dinner. 

The  banquet  took  place  on  the  last  night  of  Costigan's 
stay  at  Chatteris,  and  was  served  in  Solly's  accustomed 
manner.  As  good  a  plain  dinner  of  old  English  fare 
as  ever  smoked  on  a  table  was  prepared  by  Mrs.  Solly; 
and  about  eighteen  gentlemen  sat  down  to  the  festive 
board.  Mr.  Jubber  (the  eminent  draper  of  High 
Street)  was  in  the  Chair,  having  the  distinguished  guest 
of  the  Club  on  his  right.  The  able  and  consistent  Hicks 
officiated  as  croupier  on  the  occasion;  most  of  the  gen- 
tlemen of  the  Club  were  present,  and  H.  Foker,  Esq., 


PENDENNIS 


245 


and  -       -  Spavin,  Esq.,  friends  of  Captain  Costigan, 
were  also  participators  in  the  entertainment.    The  cloth 

( 


having  been  drawn,  the  Chairman  said,  "  Costigan,  there 
is  wine,  if  you  like,"  but  the  Captain  preferring  punch, 
that  liquor  was  voted  by  acclamation :  and  "  Non  No- 
bis  "  having  been  sung  in  admirable  style  by  Messrs. 
Bingley,  Hicks,  and  Bullby  (of  the  Cathedral  choir, 


246  PENDENNIS 

than  whom  a  more  jovial  spirit  "  ne'er  tossed  off  a 
bumper  or  emptied  a  bowl"),  the  Chairman  gave  the 
health  of  the  "  King!  "  which  was  drunk  with  the  loyalty 
of  Chatteris  men,  and  then,  without  further  circum- 
locution, proposed  their  friend  "  Captain  Costigan." 

After  the  enthusiastic  cheering,  which  rang  through 
old  Chatteris,  had  subsided,  Captain  Costigan  rose  in 
reply,  and  made  a  speech  of  twenty  minutes,  in  which 
he  was  repeatedly  overcome  by  his  emotions. 

The  gallant  Captain  said  he  must  be  pardoned  for  in- 
coherence, if  his  heart  was  too  full  to  speak.  He  was 
quitting  a  city  celebrated  for  its  antiquitee,  its  hospital- 
itee,  the  beautee  of  its  women,  the  manly  fidelitee,  gen- 
erositee,  and  jovialitee  of  its  men.  (Cheers.)  He  was 
going  from  that  ancient  and  venerable  city,  of  which, 
while  Mimoree  held  her  sayt,  he  should  never  think  with- 
out the  fondest  emotion,  to  a  methrawpolis  where  the 
talents  of  his  daughter  were  about  to  have  full  play,  and 
where  he  would  watch  over  her  like  a  guardian  angel. 
He  should  never  forget  that  it  was  at  Chatteris  she  had 
acquired  the  skill  which  she  was  about  to  exercise  in  an- 
other sphere,  and  in  her  name  and  his  own,  Jack  Costi- 
gan thanked  and  blessed  them.  The  gallant  officer's 
speech  was  received  with  tremendous  cheers. 

Mr.  Hicks,  Croupier,  in  a  brilliant  and  energetic  man- 
ner, proposed  Miss  Fotheringay's  health. 

Captain  Costigan  returned  thanks  in  a  speech  full  of 
feeling  and  eloquence. 

Mr.  Jubber  proposed  the  Drama  and  the  Chatteris 
Theatre,  and  Mr.  Bingley  was  about  to  rise,  but  was 
prevented  by  Captain  Costigan,  who,  as  long  connected 
with  the  Chatteris  Theatre,  and  on  behalf  of  his  daugh- 
ter, thanked  the  company.  He  informed  them  that  he 


PENDENNIS  247 

had  been  in  garrison,  at  Gibraltar,  and  at  Malta,  and 
had  been  at  the  taking  of  Flushing.  The  Duke  of  York 
was  a  patron  of  the  Drama ;  he  had  the  honour  of  dining 
with  His  Royal  Highness  and  the  Duke  of  Kent  many 
times;  and  the  former  had  justly  been  named  the  friend 
of  the  soldier.  (Cheers.) 

The  Army  was  then  proposed,  and  Captain  Costigan 
returned  thanks.  In  the  course  of  the  night,  he  sang 
his  well-known  songs,  "  The  Deserter,"  "  The  Shan  Van 
Voght,"  "  The  Little  Pig  under  the  Bed,"  and  "  The 
Vale  of  Avoca."  The  evening  was  a  great  triumph  for 
him— it  ended.  All  triumphs  and  all  evenings  end. 
And  the  next  day,  Miss  Costigan  having  taken  leave  of 
all  her  friends,  having  been  reconciled  to  Miss  Rouncy, 
to  whom  she  left  a  necklace  and  a  white  satin  gown— the 
next  day,  he  and  Miss  Costigan  had  places  in  the  Com- 
petitor coach  rolling  by  the  gates  of  Fairoaks  Lodge — 
and  Pendennis  never  saw  them. 

Tom  Smith,  the  coachman,  pointed  out  Fairoaks  to 
Mr.  Costigan,  who  sate  on  the  box  smelling  of  rum-and- 
water — and  the  Captain  said  it  was  a  poor  place — and 
added,  "  Ye  should  see  Castle  Costigan,  County  Mayo, 
me  boy,"— which  Tom  said  he  should  like  very  much  to 
see. 

They  were  gone,  and  Pen  had  never  seen  them!  He 
only  knew  of  their  departure  by  its  announcement  in 
the  county  paper  the  next  day:  and  straight  galloped 
over  to  Chatteris  to  hear  the  truth  of  this  news.  They 
were  gone  indeed.  A  card  of  "  Lodgings  to  let,"  was 
placed  in  the  dear  little  familiar  window.  He  rushed 
up  into  the  room  and  viewed  it  over.  He  sate  ever  so 
long  in  the  old  window-seat  looking  into  the  Dean's  Gar- 
den: whence  he  and  Emily  had  so  often  looked  out  to- 


248  PENDENNIS 

gether.  He  walked,  with  a  sort  of  terror,  into  her  little 
empty  bed-room.  It  was  swept  out  and  prepared  for 
new  comers.  The  glass  which  had  reflected  her  fair  face 
was  shining  ready  for  her  successor.  The  curtains  lay 
square  folded  on  the  little  bed:  he  flung  himself  down 
and  buried  his  head  on  the  vacant  pillow. 

Laura  had  netted  a  purse  into  which  his  mother  had 
put  some  sovereigns,  and  Pen  had  found  it  on  his  dress- 
ing-table that  very  morning.  He  gave  one  to  the  little 
servant  who  had  been  used  to  wait  upon  the  Costigans, 
and  another  to  the  children,  because  they  said  they  were 
very  fond  of  her.  It  was  but  a  few  months  back,  yet 
what  years  ago  it  seemed  since  he  had  first  entered  that 
room!  He  felt  that  it  was  all  done.  The  very  missing 
her  at  the  coach  had  something  fatal  in  it.  Blank,  weary, 
utterly  wretched  and  lonely  the  poor  lad  felt. 

His  mother  saw  She  was  gone  by  his  look  when  he 
came  home.  He  was  eager  to  fly  too  now,  as  were  other 
folks  round  about  Chatteris.  Poor  Smirke  wanted  to 
go  away  from  the  sight  of  the  siren  widow,  Foker  began 
to  think  he  had  had  enough  of  Baymouth,  and  that  a  few 
supper  parties  at  Saint  Boniface  would  not  be  unpleas- 
ant. And  Major  Pendennis  longed  to  be  off,  and  have 
a  little  pheasant-shooting  at  Stillbrook,  and  get  rid  of 
all  the  annoyances  and  tracasseries  of  the  village.  The 
widow  and  Laura  nervously  set  about  the  preparations 
for  Pen's  kit,  and  filled  trunks  with  his  books  and  linen. 
Helen  wrote  cards  with  the  name  of  Arthur  Pendennis, 
Esq.,  which  were  duly  nailed  on  the  boxes;  and  at  which 
both  she  and  Laura  looked  with  tearful,  wistful  eyes.  It 
was  not  until  long,  long  after  he  was  gone,  that  Pen  re- 
membered how  constant  and  tender  the  affection  of  these 
women  had  been,  and  how  selfish  his  own  conduct  was. 


PENDENNIS  249 

A  night  soon  comes,  when  the  mail,  with  echoing  horn 
and  blazing  lamps,  stops  at  the  lodge-gate  of  Fairoaks, 
and  Pen's  trunks  and  his  Uncle's  are  placed  on  the  roof 
of  the  carriage,  into  which  the  pair  presently  afterwards 
enter.  Helen  and  Laura  are  standing  by  the  evergreens 
of  the  shrubbery,  their  figures  lighted  up  by  the  coach 
lamps;  the  guard  cries  "  all  right:  "  in  another  instant 
the  carriage  whirls  onward;  the  lights  disappear,  and 
Helen's  heart  and  prayers  go  with  them.  Her  sainted 
benedictions  follow  the  departing  boy.  He  has  left  the 
home-nest  in  which  he  has  been  chafing,  and  whither, 
after  his  very  first  flight,  he  returned  bleeding  and 
wounded ;  he  is  eager  to  go  forth  again  and  try  his  rest- 
less wings. 

How  lonely  the  house  looks  without  him !  The  corded 
trunks  and  book -boxes  are  there  in  his  empty  study. 
Laura  asks  leave  to  come  and  sleep  in  Helen's  room: 
and  when  she  has  cried  herself  to  sleep  there,  the  mother 
goes  softly  into  Pen's  vacant  chamber,  and  kneels  down 
by  the  bed  on  which  the  moon  is  shining,  and  there  prays 
for  her  boy,  as  mothers  only  know  how  to  plead.  He 
knows  that  her  pure  blessings  are  following  him,  as  he 
is  carried  miles  away. 


CHAPTER  XVII 


VERY    man,  however    brief    or    in- 
glorious may  have  been  his  aca- 
demical  career,   must   remember 
with  kindness  and  tenderness  the 
old  university  comrades  and  days. 
The  young  man's  life  is  just  be- 
ginning:   the  boy's  lead- 
ing strings  are  cut,  and  he 
has  all  the  novel  delights 
and  dignities  of  freedom. 
He  has  no  idea  of  cares 
yet,  or  of  bad  health,  or 
of  roguery,   or  poverty, 
or  to-morrow's  disappointment.    The  play  has  not  been 
acted  so  often  as  to  make  him  tired.    Though  the  after- 
drink,  as  we  mechanically  go  on  repeating  it,  is  stale  and 
bitter,  how  pure  and  brilliant  was  that  first  sparkling 
draught  of  pleasure!— How  the  boy  rushes  at  the  cup, 
and  with  what  a  wild  eagerness  he  drains  it!    But  old 
epicures  who  are  cut  off  from  the  delights  of  the  table, 
and  are  restricted  to  a  poached  egg  and  a  glass  of  water, 
like  to  see  people  with  good  appetites;  and,  as  the  next 
best  thing  to  being  amused  at  a  pantomime  one's-self 
is  to  see  one's  children  enjoy  it,  I  hope  there  may  be  no 
degree  of  age  or  experience  to  which  mortal  may  attain, 
when  he  shall  become  such  a  glum  philosopher,  as  not 

250 


PENDENNIS  251 

to  be  pleased  by  the  sight  of  happy  youth.  Coming 
back  a  few  weeks  since  from  a  brief  visit  to  the  old 
University  of  Oxbridge,  where  my  friend  Mr.  Arthur 
Pendennis  passed  some  period  of  his  life,  I  made  the 
journey  in  the  railroad  by  the  side  of  a  young  fellow  at 
present  a  student  of  Saint  Boniface.  He  had  got  an 
exeat  somehow,  and  was  bent  on  a  day's  lark  in  London : 
he  never  stopped  rattling  and  talking  from  the  com- 
mencement of  the  journey  until  its  close  (which  was  a 
great  deal  too  soon  for  me,  for  I  never  was  tired  of  listen- 
ing to  the  honest  young  fellow's  jokes  and  cheery  laugh- 
ter) ;  and  when  we  arrived  at  the  terminus  nothing  would 
satisfy  him  but  a  Hansom  cab,  so  that  he  might  get  into 
town  the  quicker,  and  plunge  into  the  pleasures  await- 
ing him  there.  Away  the  young  lad  went  whirling,  with 
joy  lighting  up  his  honest  face ;  and  as  for  the  reader's 
humble  servant,  having  but  a  small  carpet-bag,  I  got 
up  on  the  outside  of  the  omnibus,  and  sate  there  very 
contentedly  between  a  Jew-pedlar  smoking  bad  cigars, 
and  a  gentleman's  servant  taking  care  of  a  poodle-dog, 
until  we  got  our  fated  complement  of  passengers  and 
boxes,  when  the  coachman  drove  leisurely  away.  We 
weren't  in  a  hurry  to  get  to  town.  Neither  one  of  us 
was  particularly  eager  about  rushing  into  that  near 
smoking  Babylon,  or  thought  of  dining  at  the  Club  that 
night,  or  dancing  at  the  Casino.  Yet  a  few  years  more, 
and  my  young  friend  of  the  railroad  will  be  not  a  whit 
more  eager. 

There  were  no  railroads  made  when  Arthur  Penden- 
nis went  to  the  famous  University  of  Oxbridge ;  but  he 
drove  thither  in  a  well-appointed  coach,  filled  inside  and 
out  with  dons,  gownsmen,  young  freshmen  about  to 
enter,  and  their  guardians,  who  were  conducting  them 


252  PENDENNIS 

to  the  university.  A  fat  old  gentleman,  in  grey  stock- 
ings, from  the  City,  who  sate  by  Major  Pendennis  in- 
side the  coach,  having  his  pale-faced  son  opposite,  was 
frightened  beyond  measure,  when  he  heard  that  the  coach 
had  been  driven  for  a  couple  of  stages  by  young  Mr. 
Foker,  of  Saint  Boniface  College,  who  was  the  friend 
of  all  men,  including  coachmen,  and  could  drive  as  well 
as  Tom  Hicks  himself.  Pen  sate  on  the  roof,  examin- 
ing coach,  passengers,  and  country,  with  great  delight 
and  curiosity.  His  heart  jumped  with  pleasure  as  the 
famous  university  came  in  view,  and  the  magnificent 
prospect  of  venerable  towers  and  pinnacles,  tall  elms 
and  shining  river,  spread  before  him. 

Pen  had  passed  a  few  days  with  his  uncle  at  the  Ma- 
jor's lodgings,  in  Bury  Street,  before  they  set  out  for 
Oxbridge.  Major  Pendennis  thought  that  the  lad's 
wardrobe  wanted  renewal ;  and  Arthur  was  by  no  means 
averse  to  any  plan  which  was  to  bring  him  new  coats  and 
waistcoats.  There  was  no  end  to  the  sacrifices  which  the 
self-denying  uncle  made  in  the  youth's  behalf.  London 
was  awfully  lonely.  The  Pall  Mall  pavement  was  de- 
serted; the  very  red- jackets  had  gone  out  of  town. 
There  was  scarce  a  face  to  be  seen  in  the  bow-windows 
of  the  clubs.  The  Major  conducted  his  nephew  into  one 
or  two  of  those  desert  mansions,  and  wrote  down  the  lad's 
name  on  the  candidate-list  of  one  of  them ;  and  Arthur's 
pleasure  at  this  compliment  on  his  guardian's  part  was 
excessive.  He  read  in  the  parchment  volume  his  name 
and  titles,  as  "  Arthur  Pendennis,  Esquire,  of  Fairoaks 
Lodge, shire,  and  Saint  Boniface  College,  Ox- 
bridge; proposed  by  Major  Pendennis,  and  seconded 
by  Viscount  Colchicum,"  with  a  thrill  of  intense  grati- 
fication. "  You  will  come  in  for  ballot  in  about  three 


PENDENNIS  253 

years,  by  which  time  you  will  have  taken  your  degree," 
the  guardian  said.  Pen  longed  for  the  three  years  to 
be  over,  and  surveyed  the  stucco-halls,  and  vast  libraries, 
and  drawing-rooms,  as  already  his  own  property.  The 
Major  laughed  slily  to  see  the  pompous  airs  of  the 
simple  young  fellow,  as  he  strutted  out  of  the  building. 
He  and  Foker  drove  down  in  the  latter's  cab  one  day 
to  the  Grey  Friars,  and  renewed  acquaintance  with  some 
of  their  old  comrades  there.  The  boys  came  crowding 
up  to  the  cab  as  it  stood  by  the  Grey  Friars  gates,  where 
they  were  entering,  and  admired  the  chestnut  horse,  and 
the  tights  and  livery  and  gravity  of  Stoopid,  the  tiger. 
The  bell  for  afternoon-school  rang  as  they  were  swag- 
gering about  the  play-ground  talking  to  their  old  cro- 
nies. The  awful  Doctor  passed  into  school  with  his 
grammar  in  his  hand.  Foker  slunk  away  uneasily  at  his 
presence,  but  Pen  went  up  blushing,  and  shook  the  dig- 
nitary by  the  hand.  He  laughed  as  he  thought  that  well- 
remembered  Latin  Grammar  had  boxed  his  ears  many  a 
time.  He  was  generous,  good-natured,  and,  in  a  word, 
perfectly  conceited  and  satisfied  with  himself. 

Then  they  drove  to  the  parental  brew-house.  Foker's 
Entire  is  composed  in  an  enormous  pile  of  buildings, 
not  far  from  the  Grey  Friars,  and  the  name  of  that  well- 
known  firm  is  gilded  upon  innumerable  public-house 
signs,  tenanted  by  its  vassals  in  the  neighbourhood :  the 
venerable  junior  partner  and  manager  did  honour  to  the 
young  lord  of  the  vats  and  his  friend,  and  served  them 
with  silver  flagons  of  brown-stout,  so  strong,  that  you 
would  have  thought,  not  only  the  young  men,  but  the 
very  horse  Mr.  Harry  Foker  drove,  was  affected  by  the 
potency  of  the  drink,  for  he  rushed  home  to  the  west-end 
of  the  town  at  a  rapid  pace,  which  endangered  the  pie- 


254  PENDENNIS 

stalls  and  the  women  on  the  crossings,  and  brought  the 
cab-steps  into  collision  with  the  posts  at  the  street  cor- 
ners, and  caused  Stoopid  to  swing  fearfully  on  his  board 
behind. 

The  Major  was  quite  pleased  when  Pen  was  with  his 
young  acquaintance;  listened  to  Mr.  Foker's  artless 
stories  .with  the  greatest  interest:  gave  the  two  boys  a 
fine  dinner  at  a  Covent  Garden  Coffee-house,  whence 
they  proceeded  to  the  play;  but  was  above  all  happy 
when  Mr.  and  Lady  Agnes  Foker,  who  happened  to  be 
in  London,  requested  the  pleasure  of  Major  Pendennis 
and  Mr.  Arthur  Pendennis's  company  at  dinner  in  Gros- 
venor  Street.  "  Having  obtained  the  entree  into  Lady 
Agnes  Foker's  house,"  he  said  to  Pen  with  an  affec- 
tionate solemnity  which  befitted  the  importance  of  the 
occasion,  "  it  behooves  you,  my  dear  boy,  to  keep  it. 
You  must  mind  and  never  neglect  to  call  in  Grosvenor 
Street  when  you  come  to  London.  I  recommend  you  to 
read  up  carefully,  in  Debrett,  the  alliances  and  geneal- 
ogy of  the  Earls  of  Rosherville,  and  if  you  can,  to  make 
some  trifling  allusions  to  the  family,  something  histori- 
cal, neat,  and  complimentary,  and  that  sort  of  thing, 
which  you,  who  have  a  poetic  fancy,  can  do  pretty  well. 
Mr.  Foker  himself  is  a  worthy  man,  though  not  of  high 
extraction  or  indeed  much  education.  He  always  makes 
a  point  of  having  some  of  the  family  porter  served  round 
after  dinner,  which  you  will  on  no  account  refuse,  and 
which  I  shall  drink  myself,  though  all  beer  disagrees 
with  me  confoundedly."  And  the  heroic  martyr  did 
actually  sacrifice  himself,  as  he  said  he  would,  on  the  day 
when  the  dinner  took  place,  and  old  Mr.  Foker,  at  the 
head  of  his  table,  made  his  usual  joke  about  Foker's 
Entire.  We  should  all  of  us,  I  am  sure,  have  liked  to 


PENDENNIS  255 

see  the  Major's  grin,  when  the  worthy  old  gentleman 
made  his  time-honoured  joke. 

Lady  Agnes,  who,  wrapped  up  in  Harry,  was  the 
fondest  of  mothers,  and  one  of  the  most  good-natured 
though  not  the  wisest  of  women,  received  her  son's  friend 
with  great  cordiality;  and  astonished  Pen  by  accounts 
of  the  severe  course  of  studies  which  her  darling  boy  was 
pursuing,  and  which  she  feared  might  injure  his  dear 
health.  Foker  the  elder  burst  into  a  horse-laugh  at  some 
of  these  speeches,  and  the  heir  of  the  house  winked  his 
eye  very  knowingly  at  his  friend.  And  Lady  Agnes 
then  going  through  her  son's  history  from  the  earliest 
time,  and  recounting  his  miraculous  sufferings  in  the 
measles  and  whooping-cough,  his  escape  from  drowning, 
the  shocking  tyrannies  practised  upon  him  at  that  horrid 
school,  whither  Mr.  Foker  would  send  him  because  he 
had  been  brought  up  there  himself,  and  she  never  would 
forgive  that  disagreeable  Doctor,  no  never — Lady 
Agnes,  we  say,  having  prattled  away  for  an  hour  inces- 
santly about  her  son,  voted  the  two  Messieurs  Pendennis 
most  agreeable  men ;  and  when  the  pheasants  came  with 
the  second  course,  which  the  Major  praised  as  the  very 
finest  birds  he  ever  saw,  her  Ladyship  said  they  came 
from  Logwood  (as  the  Major  knew  perfectly  well)  and 
hoped  that  they  would  both  pay  her  a  visit  there — at 
Christmas,  or  when  dear  Harry  was  at  home  for  the 
vacations. 

"  God  bless  you,  my  dear  boy,"  Pendennis  said  to  Ar- 
thur, as  they  were  lighting  their  candles  in  Bury  Street 
afterwards  to  go  to  bed.  *  You  made  that  little  allusion 
to  Agincourt,  where  one  of  the  Roshervilles  distin- 
guished himself,  very  neatly  and  well,  although  Lady 
Agnes  did  not  quite  understand  it:  but  it  was  exceed- 


256  PENDENNIS 

ingly  well  for  a  beginner— though  you  oughtn't  to  blush 
so,  by  the  way— and  I  beseech  you,  my  dear  Arthur,  to 
remember  through  life,  that  with  an  entree — with  a  good 
entree  j  mind — it  is  just  as  easy  for  you  to  have  good 
society  as  bad,  and  that  it  costs  a  man,  when  properly 
introduced,  no  more  trouble  or  soins  to  keep  a  good  foot- 
ing in  the  best  houses  in  London  than  to  dine  with  a 
lawyer  in  Bedford  Square.  Mind  this  when  you  are  at 
Oxbridge  pursuing  your  studies,  and  for  Heaven's  sake 
be  very  particular  in  the  acquaintances  which  you  make. 
The  premier  pas  in  life  is  the  most  important  of  all— 
did  you  write  to.  your  mother  to-day? — no?— well,  do, 
before  you  go,  and  call  and  ask  Mr.  Foker  for  a  frank— 
They  like  it— Good  night.  God  bless  you." 

Pen  wrote  a  droll  account  of  his  doings  in  London, 
and  the  play,  and  the  visit  to  the  old  Friars,  and  the 
brewery,  and  the  party  at  Mr.  Foker's,  to  his  dearest 
mother,  who  was  saying  her  prayers  at  home  in  the  lonely 
house  at  Fairoaks,  her  heart  full  of  love  and  tenderness 
unutterable  for  the  boy:  and  she  and  Laura  read  that 
letter  and  those  which  followed,  many,  many  times,  and 
brooded  over  them  as  women  do.  It  was  the  first  step  in 
life  that  Pen  was  making — Ah!  what  a  dangerous  jour- 
ney it  is,  and  how  the  bravest  may  stumble  and  the 
strongest  fail.  Brother  wayfarer!  may  you  have  a  kind 
arm  to  support  yours  on  the  path,  and  a  friendly  hand 
to  succour  those  who  fall  beside  you.  May  truth  guide, 
mercy  forgive  at  the  end,  and  love  accompany  always. 
Without  that  lamp  how  blind  the  traveller  would  be, 
and  how  black  and  cheerless  the  journey! 

So  the  coach  drove  up  to  that  ancient  and  comfortable 
inn  the  Trencher,  which  stands  in  Main  Street,  Ox- 
bridge, and  Pen  with  delight  and  eagerness  remarked, 


PENDENNIS  257 

for  the  first  time,  gownsmen  going  about,  chapel  bells 
clinking  (bells  in  Oxbridge  are  ringing  from  morning- 
tide  till  even-song,) —towers  and  pinnacles  rising  calm 
and  stately  over  the  gables  and  antique  house-roofs  of 
the  city.  Previous  communications  had  taken  place  be- 
tween Doctor  Portman  on  Pen's  part,  and  Mr.  Buck, 
Tutor  of  Boniface,  on  whose  side  Pen  was  entered ;  and 
as  soon  as  Major  Pendennis  had  arranged  his  personal 
appearance,  so  that  it  should  make  a  satisfactory  im- 
pression upon  Pen's  tutor,  the  pair  walked  down  Main 
Street,  and  passed  the  great  gate  and  belfry-tower  of 
Saint  George's  College,  and  so  came,  as  they  were  di- 
rected, to  Saint  Boniface,  where  again  Pen's  heart  be- 
gan to  beat  as  they  entered  at  the  wicket  of  the  venerable 
ivy-mantled  gate  of  the  College.  It  is  surmounted  with 
an  ancient  dome  almost  covered  with  creepers,  and 
adorned  with  the  effigy  of  the  Saint  from  whom  the 
House  takes  its  name,  and  many  coats-of-arms  of  its 
royal  and  noble  benefactors. 

The  porter  pointed  out  a  queer  old  tower  at  the  cor- 
ner of  the  quadrangle,  by  which  Mr.  Buck's  rooms  were 
approached,  and  the  two  gentlemen  walked  across  the 
square,  the  main  features  of  which  were  at  once  and  for 
ever  stamped  in  Pen's  mind— the  pretty  fountain  play- 
ing in  the  centre  of  the  fair  grass  plats ;  the  tall  chapel 
windows  and  buttresses  rising  to  the  right ;  the  hall,  with 
its  tapering  lantern  and  oriel  window;  the  lodge,  from 
the  doors  of  which  the  Master  issued  awfully  in  rustling 
silks:  the  lines  of  the  surrounding  rooms  pleasantly 
broken  by  carved  chimneys,  grey  turrets,  and  quaint  ga- 
bles—all these  Mr.  Pen's  eyes  drank  in  with  an  eagerness 
which  belongs  to  first  impressions;  and  Major  Penden- 
nis surveyed  with  that  calmness  which  belongs  to  a  gen- 


258  PENDENNIS 

Hi-man  who  does  not  care  for  the  picturesque,  and  whose 
eyes  have  been  somewhat  dimmed  by  the  constant  glare 
of  the  pavement  of  Pall  Mall. 

Saint  George's  is  the  great  College  of  the  University 
of  Oxbridge,  with  its  four  vast  quadrangles,  and  its 
beautiful  hall  and  gardens,  and  the  Georgians,  as  the 
men  are  called,  wear  gowns  of  a  peculiar  cut,  and  give 
themselves  no  small  airs  of  superiority  over  all  other 
young  men.  Little  Saint  Boniface  is  but  a  petty  her- 
mitage in  comparison  of  the  huge  consecrated  pile  along- 
side of  which  it  lies.  But  considering  its  size  it  has 
always  kept  an  excellent  name  in  the  university.  Its 
ton  is  very  good:  the  best  families  of  certain  counties 
have  time  out  of  mind  sent  up  their  young  men  to  Saint 
Boniface:  the  college  livings  are  remarkably  good,  the 
fellowships  easy;  the  Boniface  men  had  had  more  than 
their  fair  share  of  university  honours;  their  boat  was 
third  upon  the  river ;  their  chapel-choir  is  not  inferior  to 
Saint  George's  itself;  and  the  Boniface  ale  the  best  in 
Oxbridge.  In  the  comfortable  old  wainscotted  College- 
Hall,  and  round  about  Roubilliac's  statue  of  Saint  Boni- 
face (who  stands  in  an  attitude  of  seraphic  benediction 
over  the  uncommonly  good  cheer  of  the  fellows'  table ) , 
there  are  portraits  of  many  most  eminent  Bonifacians. 
There  is  the  learned  Doctor  Griddle,  who  suffered  in 
Henry  VIII.'s  time,  and  Archbishop  Bush  who  roasted 
him— there  is  Lord  Chief  Justice  Hicks— the  Duke  of 
St.  David's,  K.G.,  Chancellor  of  the  University  and 
Member  of  this  College— Sprott  the  Poet,  of  whose 
fame  the  college  is  justly  proud — Doctor  Blogg,  the  late 
master,  and  friend  of  Doctor  Johnson,  who  visited  him 
at  St.  Boniface— and  other  lawyers,  scholars,  and 
divines,  whose  portraitures  look  from  the  walls,  or  whose 


PENDENNIS  259 

coats-of-arms  shine  in  emerald  and  ruby,  gold  and  azure, 
in  the  tall  windows  of  the  refectory.  The  venerable  cook 
of  the  college  is  one  of  the  best  artists  in  Oxbridge,  and 
the  wine  in  the  fellows'  room  has  long  been  famed  for 
its  excellence  and  abundance. 

Into  this  certainly  not  the  least  snugly  sheltered  ar- 
bour amongst  the  groves  of  Academe,  Pen  now  found 
his  way,  leaning  on  his  uncle's  arm,  and  they  speedily 
reached  Mr.  Buck's  rooms,  and  were  conducted  into  the 
apartment  of  that  courteous  gentleman. 

He  had  received  previous  information  from  Doctor 
Portman  regarding  Pen,  with  respect  to  whose  family, 
fortune,  and  personal  merits  the  honest  doctor  had 
spoken  with  no  small  enthusiasm.  Indeed  Portman  had 
described  Arthur  to  the  tutor  as  "  a  young  gentleman  of 
some  fortune  and  landed  estate,  of  one  of  the  most  an- 
cient families  in  the  kingdom,  and  possessing  such  a 
character  and  genius  as  were  sure,  under  proper  guid- 
ance, to  make  him  a  credit  to  the  college  and  the  uni- 
versity." Under  such  recommendations,  the  tutor  was, 
of  course,  most  cordial  to  the  young  freshman  and  his 
guardian,  invited  the  latter  to  dine  in  hall,  where  he 
would  have  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  his  nephew  wear 
his  gown  and  eat  his  dinner  for  the  first  time,  and  re- 
quested the  pair  to  take  wine  at  his  rooms  after  hall, 
and  in  consequence  of  the  highly-favourable  report  he 
had  received  of  Mr.  Arthur  Pendennis,  said,  he  should 
be  happy  to  give  him  the  best  set  of  rooms  to  be  had  in 
college — a  gentleman-pensioner's  set,  indeed,  which  were 
just  luckily  vacant.  When  a  College  Magnate  takes 
the  trouble  to  be  polite,  there  is  no  man  more  splendidly 
courteous.  Immersed  in  their  books,  and  excluded  from 
the  world  by  the  gravity  of  their  occupations,  these  rev- 


2GO 


PENDENNIS 


erend  men  assume  a  solemn  magnificence  of  compliment 
in  which  they  rustle  and  swell  as  in  their  grand  robes  of 
state.  Those  silks  and  brocades  are  not  put  on  for  all 
comers  or  every  day. 

When  the  two  gentlemen  had  taken  leave  of  the  tutor 


in  his  study,  and  had  returned  to  Mr.  Buck's  ante-room, 
or  lecture-room,  a  very  handsome  apartment,  Turkey- 
carpeted,  and  hung  with  excellent  prints  and  richly 
framed  pictures,  they  found  the  tutor's  servant  already 
in  waiting  there,  accompanied  by  a  man  with  a  bag  full 
of  caps  and  a  number  of  gowns,  from  which  Pen  might 
select  a  cap  and  gown  for  himself,  and  the  servant,  no 


PENDENNIS  261* 

doubt,  would  get  a  commission  proportionable  to  the 
service  done  by  him.  Mr.  Pen  was  all  in  a  tremor  of 
pleasure  as  the  bustling  tailor  tried  on  a  gown,  and  pro- 
nounced that  it  was  an  excellent  fit ;  and  then  he  put  the 
pretty  college  cap  on,  in  rather  a  dandified  manner,  and 
somewhat  on  one  side,  as  he  had  seen  Fiddicombe,  the 
youngest  master  at  Grey  Friars,  wear  it.  And  he  in- 
spected the  entire  costume  with  a  great  deal  of  satis- 
faction in  one  of  the  great  gilt  mirrors  which  ornamented 
Mr.  Buck's  lecture-room:  for  some  of  these  college 
divines  are  no  more  above  looking-glasses  than  a  lady 
is,  and  look  to  the  set  of  their  gowns  and  caps  quite  as 
anxiously  as  folks  do  of  the  lovelier  sex. 

Then  Davis,  the  skip  or  attendant,  led  the  way,  keys 
in  hand,  across  the  quadrangle,  the  Major  and  Pen  fol- 
lowing him,  the  latter  blushing,  and  pleased  with  his 
new  academical  habiliments, — across  the  quadrangle  to 
the  rooms  which  were  destined  for  the  freshman;  and 
which  were  vacated  by  the  retreat  of  the  gentleman-pen- 
sioner, Mr.  Spicer.  The  rooms  were  very  comfortable, 
with  large  cross  beams,  high  wainscots,  and  small  win- 
dows in  deep  embrasures.  Mr.  Spicer's  furniture  was 
there,  and  to  be  sold  at  a  valuation,  and  Major  Penden- 
nis  agreed  on  his  nephew's  behalf  to  take  the  available 
part  of  it,  laughingly  however  declining  (as,  indeed, 
Pen  did  for  his  own  part)  six  sporting  prints,  and  four 
groups  of  opera-dancers  with  gauze  draperies,  which 
formed  the  late  occupant's  pictorial  collection. 

Then  they  went  to  hall,  where  Pen  sate  down  and  ate 
his  commons  with  his  brother  freshmen,  and  the  Major 
took  his  place  at  the  high-table  along  with  the  collar 
dignitaries  and  other  fathers  or  guardians  of  youth,  who 
had  come  up  with  their  sons  to  Oxbridge ;  and  after  hall 


262  PENDENNIS 

they  went  to  Mr.  Buck's  to  take  wine;  and  after  wine 
to  chapel,  where  the  Major  sate  with  great  gravity  in  the 
upper  place,  having  a  fine  view  of  the  Master  in  his 
carved  throne  or  stall  under  the  organ-loft,  where  that 
gentleman,  the  learned  Doctor  Donne,  sate  magnificent, 
with  his  great  prayer-book  before  him,  an  image  of  stat- 
uesque piety  and  rigid  devotion.  All  the  young  fresh- 
men behaved  with  gravity  and  decorum,  but  Pen  was 
shocked  to  see  that  atrocious  little  Foker,  who  came  in 
very  late,  and  half-a-dozen  of  his  comrades  in  the  gentle- 
men-pensioners' seats,  giggling  and  talking  as  if  they 
had  been  in  so  many  stalls  at  the  Opera. 

Pen  could  hardly  sleep  at  night  in  his  bed-room  at  the 
Trencher;  so  anxious  was  he  to  begin  his  college  life, 
and  to  get  into  his  own  apartments.  What  did  he  think 
about,  as  he  lay  tossing  and  awake?  Was  it  about  his 
mother  at  home ;  the  pious  soul  whose  life  was  bound  up 
in  his?  Yes,  let  us  hope  he  thought  of  her  a  little.  Was 
it  about  Miss  Fotheringay,  and  his  eternal  passion,  which 
had  kept  him  awake  so  many  nights,  and  created  such 
wretchedness  and  such  longing?  He  had  a  trick  of 
blushing,  and  if  you  had  been  in  the  room,  and  the  candle 
had  not  been  out,  you  might  have  seen  the  youth's  coun- 
tenance redden  more  than  once,  as  he  broke  out  into 
passionate  incoherent  exclamations  regarding  that  luck- 
less event  of  his  life.  His  uncle's  lessons  had  not  been 
thrown  away  upon  him ;  the  mist  of  passion  had  passed 
from  his  eyes  now,  and  he  saw  her  as  she  was.  To  think 
that  he,  Pendennis,  had  been  enslaved  by  such  a  woman, 
and  then  jilted  by  her!  that  he  should  have  stooped  so 
low,  to  be  trampled  on  in  the  mire !  that  there  was  a  time 
in  his  life,  and  that  but  a  few  months  back,  when  he  was 
willing  to  take  Costigan  for  his  father-in-law!— 


PENDENNIS  263 

"Poor  old  Smirke!"  Pen  presently  laughed  out— 
"  well,  I'll  write  and  try  and  console  the  poor  old  boy. 
He  won't  die  of  his  passion,  ha,  ha!  "  The  Major,  had  he 
been  awake,  might  have  heard  a  score  of  such  ejacula- 
tions uttered  by  Pen  as  he  lay  awake  and  restless  through 
the  first  night  of  his  residence  at  Oxbridge. 

It  would,  perhaps,  have  been  better  for  a  youth,  the 
battle  of  whose  life  was  going  to  begin  on  the  morrow, 
to  have  passed  the  eve  in  a  different  sort  of  vigil:  but 
the  world  had  got  hold  of  Pen  in  the  shape  of  his  selfish 
old  Mentor :  and  those  who  have  any  interest  in  his  char- 
acter, must  have  perceived  ere  now,  that  this  lad  was 
very  weak  as  well  as  very  impetuous,  very  vain  as  well  as 
very  frank,  and  if  of  a  generous  disposition,  not  a  little 
selfish,  in  the  midst  of  his  profuseness,  and  also  rather 
fickle,  as  all  eager  pursuers  of  self -gratification  are. 

The  six-months'  passion  had  aged  him  very  con- 
siderably. There  was  an  immense  gulf  between  Pen  the 
victim  of  love,  and  Pen  the  innocent  boy  of  eighteen, 
sighing  after  it:  and  so  Arthur  Pendennis  had  all  the 
experience  and  superiority,  besides  that  command  which 
afterwards  conceit  and  imperiousness  of  disposition  gave 
him  over  the  young  men  with  whom  he  now  began  to 
live. 

He  and  his  uncle  passed  the  morning  with  great  satis- 
faction in  making  purchases  for  the  better  comfort  of 
the  apartments  which  the  lad  was  about  to  occupy.  Mr. 
Spicer's  china  and  glass  were  in  a  dreadfully  dismantled 
condition,  his  lamps  smashed,  and  his  bookcases  by  no 
means  so  spacious  as  those  shelves  which  would  be  requi- 
site to  receive  the  contents  of  the  boxes  which  were  lying 
in  the  hall  at  Fairoaks,  and  which  were  addressed  to 
Arthur  in  the  hand  of  poor  Helen. 


264  PENDENNIS 

The  boxes  arrived  in  a  few  days,  that  his  mother  had 
packed  with  so  much  care.  Pen  was  touched  as  he  read 
the  superscriptions  in  the  dear  well-known  hand,  and  he 
arranged  in  their  proper  places  all  the  books,  his  old 
friends,  and  all  the  linen  and  table-cloths  which  Helen 
had  selected  from  the  family  stock,  and  all  the  jam-pots 
which  little  Laura  had  bound  in  straw,  and  the  hundred 
simple  gifts  of  home. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

PENDENNIS  OF  BONIFACE 

UR  friend  Pen  was  not  sorry 
when  his  Mentor  took  leave  of 
the  young  gentleman  on  the 
second  day  after  the  arrival  of 
the  pair  in  Oxbridge,  and  we 
may  be  sure  that  the  Major 
on  his  part  was  very  glad  to 
have  discharged  his  duty,  and 
to  have  the  duty  over.    More 
than  three  months  of  precious 
time   had   that  martyr   of   a 
Major  given  up  to  his  nephew 
— Was  ever  selfish  man  called 
upon  to  make  a  greater  sacri- 
fice?   Do  you  know  many  men 
or  Majors  who  would  do  as  much?    A  man  will  lay  down 
his  head,  or  peril  his  life  for  his  honour,  but  let  us  be  shy 
how  we  ask  him  to  give  up  his  ease  or  his  heart's  desire. 
Very  few  of  us  can  bear  that  trial.     Let  us  give  the 
Major  due  credit  for  his  conduct  during  the  past  quar- 
ter, and  own  that  he  has  quite  a  right  to  be  pleased  at 
getting  a  holiday.    Foker  and  Pen  saw  him  off  in  the 
coach,  and  the  former  youth  gave  particular  orders  to 
the  coachman  to  take  care  of  that  gentleman  inside.    It 
pleased  the  elder  Pendennis  to  have  his  nephew  in  the 
company  of  a  young  fellow  who  would  introduce  him 

865 


26G  PENDENNIS 

to  the  best  set  of  the  university.  The  Major  rushed  off 
to  London  and  thence  to  Cheltenham,  from  which  water- 
ing-place he  descended  upon  some  neighbouring  great 
houses,  whereof  the  families  were  not  gone  abroad,  and 
where  good  shooting  and  company  were  to  be  had. 

We  are  not  about  to  go  through  young  Pen's  aca- 
demical career  very  minutely.  Alas,  the  life  of  such  boys 
does  not  bear  telling  altogether.  I  wish  it  did.  I  ask 
you,  does  yours?  As  long  as  what  we  call  our  honour 
is  clear,  I  suppose  your  mind  is  pretty  easy.  Women  are 
pure,  but  not  men.  Women  are  unselfish,  but  not  men. 
And  I  would  not  wish  to  say  of  poor  Arthur  Pendennis 
that  he  was  worse  than  his  neighbours,  only  that  his 
neighbours  are  bad  for  the  most  part.  Let  us  have  the 
candour  to  own  as  much  at  least.  Can  you  point  out 
ten  spotless  men  of  your  acquaintance?  Mine  is  pretty 
large,  but  I  can't  find  ten  saints  in  the  list. 

During  the  first  term  of  Mr.  Pen's  university  life,  he 
attended  classical  and  mathematical  lectures  with  toler- 
able assiduity;  but  discovering  before  very  long  time 
that  he  had  little  taste  or  genius  for  the  pursuing  of  the 
exact  sciences,  and  being  perhaps  rather  annoyed  that 
one  or  two  very  vulgar  young  men,  who  did  not  even 
use  straps  to  their  trousers  so  as  to  cover  the  abominably 
thick  and  coarse  shoes  and  stockings  which  they  wore, 
beat  him  completely  in  the  lecture-room,  he  gave  up  his 
attendance  at  that  course,  and  announced  to  his  fond 
parent  that  he  proposed  to  devote  himself  exclusively  to 
the  cultivation  of  Greek  and  Roman  Literature. 

Mrs.  Pendennis  was,  for  her  part,  quite  satisfied  that 
her  darling  boy  should  pursue  that  branch  of  learning 
for  which  he  had  the  greatest  inclination;  and  only  be- 
sought him  not  to  ruin  his  health  by  too  much  study,  for 


PENDENNIS  267 

she  had  heard  the  most  melancholy  stories  of  young  stu- 
dents, who,  by  over  fatigue,  had  brought  on  brain-fevers 
and  perished  untimely  in  the  midst  of  their  university 
career.  And  Pen's  health,  which  was  always  delicate, 
was  to  be  regarded,  as  she  justly  said,  beyond  all  con- 
siderations or  vain  honours.  Pen,  although  not  aware 
of  any  lurking  disease  which  was  likely  to  endanger  his 
life,  yet  kindly  promised  his  mamma  not  to  sit  up  read- 
ing too  late  of  nights,  and  stuck  to  his  word  in  this  re- 
spect with  a  great  deal  more  tenacity  of  resolution  than 
he  exhibited  upon  some  other  occasions,  when  perhaps 
he  was  a  little  remiss. 

Presently  he  began  too  to  find  that  he  learned  little 
good  in  the  classical  lecture.  His  fellow-students  there 
were  too  dull,  as  in  mathematics  they  were  too  learned 
for  him.  Mr.  Buck,  the  tutor,  was  no  better  a  scholar 
than  many  a  fifth-form  boy  at  Grey  Friars ;  might  have 
some  stupid  humdrum  notions  about  the  metre  and 
grammatical  construction  of  a  passage  of  ^Eschylus  or 
Aristophanes,  but  had  no  more  notion  of  the  poetry  than 
Mrs.  Binge,  his  bed-maker;  and  Pen  grew  weary  of 
hearing  the  dull  students  and  tutor  blunder  through  a 
few  lines  of  a  play,  which  he  could  read  in  a  tenth  part 
of  the  time  which  they  gave  to  it.  After  all,  private  read- 
ing, as  he  began  to  perceive,  was  the  only  study  which 
was  really  profitable  to  a  man ;  and  he  announced  to  his 
mamma  that  he  should  read  by  himself  a  great  deal 
more,  and  in  public  a  great  deal  less.  That  excellent 
woman  knew  no  more  about  Homer  than  she  did  about 
Algebra,  but  she  was  quite  contented  with  Pen's  ar- 
rangements regarding  his  course  of  studies,  and  felt 
perfectly  confident  that  her  dear  boy  would  get  the  place 
which  he  merited. 


268  PENDENNIS 

Pen  did  not  come  home  until  after  Christmas,  a  little 
to  the  fond  mother's  disappointment,  and  Laura's,  who 
was  longing  for  him  to  make  a  fine  snow  fortification, 
such  as  he  had  made  three  winters  before.  But  he  was 
invited  to  Logwood,  Lady  Agnes  Foker's,  where  there 
were  private  theatricals,  and  a  gay  Christmas  party  of 
very  fine  folks,  some  of  them  whom  Major  Pendennis 
would  on  no  account  have  his  nephew  neglect.  How- 
ever, he  stayed  at  home  for  the  last  three  weeks  of  the 
vacation,  and  Laura  had  the  opportunity  of  remarking 
what  a  quantity  of  fine  new  clothes  he  brought  with  him, 
and  his  mother  admired  his  improved  appearance  and 
manly  and  decided  tone. 

He  did  not  come  home  at  Easter ;  but  when  he  arrived 
for  the  long  vacation,  he  brought  more  smart  clothes; 
appearing  in  the  morning  in  wonderful  shooting- jackets, 
with  remarkable  buttons;  and  in  the  evening  in  gor- 
geous velvet  waistcoats,  with  richly  embroidered  cravats, 
and  curious  linen.  And  as  she  pried  about  his  room,  she 
saw,  oh,  such  a  beautiful  dressing-case,  with  silver  mount- 
ings, and  a  quantity  of  lovely  rings  and  jewellery.  And 
he  had  a  new  French  watch  and  gold  chain,  in  place  of 
the  big  old  chronometer,  with  its  bunch  of  jingling  seals, 
which  had  hung  from  the  fob  of  John  Pendennis,  and 
by  the  second-hand  of  which  the  defunct  doctor  had  felt 
many  a  patient's  pulse  in  his  time.  It  was  but  a  few 
months  back  Pen  had  longed  for  this  watch,  which  he 
thought  the  most  splendid  and  august  time-piece  in  the 
world;  and  just  before  he  went  to  college,  Helen  had 
taken  it  out  of  her  trinket-box  (where  it  had  remained 
unwound  since  the  death  of  her  husband)  and  given  it 
to  Pen  with  a  solemn  and  appropriate  little  speech  re- 
specting his  father's  virtues  and  the  proper  use  of  time. 


PENDENNIS  269 

This  portly  and  valuable  chronometer  Pen  now  pro- 
nounced to  be  out  of  date,  and  indeed,  made  some  com- 
parisons between  it  and  a  warming-pan,  which  Laura 
thought  disrespectful,  and  he  left  the  watch  in  a  drawer, 
in  the  company  of  soiled  primrose  gloves,  cravats  which 
had  gone  out  of  favour,  and  of  that  other  school  watch 
which  has  once  before  been  mentioned  in  this  history. 
Our  old  friend,  Rebecca,  Pen  pronounced  to  be  no  longer 
up  to  his  weight,  and  swopped  her  away  for  another  and 
more  powerful  horse,  for  which  he  had  to  pay  rather  a 
heavy  figure.  Mrs.  Pendennis  gave  the  boy  the  money 
for  the  new  horse;  and  Laura  cried  when  Rebecca  was 
fetched  away. 

Also  Pen  brought  a  large  box  of  cigars  branded 
Color  ados,  Afrancesados,  Telescopies,  Fudson  Oxford 
Street,  or  by  some  such  strange  titles,  and  began  to  con- 
sume these  not  only  about  the  stables  and  green-houses, 
where  they  were  very  good  for  Helen's  plants,  but  in 
his  own  study, — which  practice  his  mother  did  not  at  first 
approve.  But  he  was  at  work  upon  a  prize-poem,  he 
said,  and  could  not  compose  without  his  cigar,  and  quoted 
the  late  lamented  Lord  Byron's  lines  in  favour  of  the 
custom  of  smoking.  As  he  was  smoking  to  such  good 
purpose,  his  mother  could  not  of  course  refuse  permis- 
sion: in  fact,  the  good  soul  coming  into  the  room  one 
day  in  the  midst  of  Pen's  labours  (he  was  consulting  a 
novel  which  had  recentty  appeared,  for  the  cultivation  of 
the  light  literature  of  his  own  country  as  well  as  of  for- 
eign nations  became  every  student) — Helen,  we  say, 
coming  into  the  room  and  finding  Pen  on  the  sofa  at 
this  work,  rather  than  disturb  him  went  for  a  light-box 
and  his  cigar-case  to  his  bed-room  which  was  adjacent, 
and  actually  put  the  cigar  into  his  mouth  and  lighted  the 


270  PENDENNIS 

match  at  which  he  kindled  it.  Pen  laughed,  and  kissed 
his  mother's  hand  as  it  hung  fondly  over  the  back  of  the 
sofa.  "  Dear  old  mother,"  he  said,  "  if  I  were  to  tell 
you  to  burn  the  house  down,  I  think  you  would  do  it." 
And  it  is  very  likely  that  Mr.  Pen  was  right,  and  that 
the  foolish  woman  would  have  done  almost  as  much  for 
him  as  he  said. 

Besides  the  works  of  English  "  light  literature  "  which 
this  diligent  student  devoured,  he  brought  down  boxes 
of  the  light  literature  of  the  neighbouring  country  of 
France :  into  the  leaves  of  which  when  Helen  dipped,  she 
read  such  things  as  caused  her  to  open  her  eyes  with  won- 
der. But  Pen  showed  her  that  it  was  not  he  who  made  the 
books,  though  it  was  absolutely  necessary  that  he  should 
keep  up  his  French  by  an  acquaintance  with  the  most 
celebrated  writers  of  the  day,  and  that  it  was  clearly  his 
duty  to  read  the  eminent  Paul  de  Kock,  as  to  study 
Swift  or  Moliere.  And  Mrs.  Pendennis  yielded  with  a 
sigh  of  perplexity.  But  Miss  Laura  was  warned  off  the 
books,  both  by  his  anxious  mother,  and  that  rigid  moral- 
ist Mr.  Arthur  Pendennis  himself,  who,  however  he 
might  be  called  upon  to  study  every  branch  of  litera- 
ture in  order  to  form  his  mind  and  to  perfect  his  style, 
would  by  no  means  prescribe  such  a  course  of  read- 
ing to  a  young  lady  whose  business  in  life  was  very 
different. 

In  the  course  of  this  long  vacation  Mr.  Pen  drank  up 
the  bin  of  claret  which  his  father  had  laid  in,  and  of 
which  we  have  heard  the  son  remark  that  there  was  not 
a  headache  in  a  hogshead;  and  this  wine  being  ex- 
hausted, he  wrote  for  a  further  supply  to  "  his  wine  mer- 
chants," Messrs.  Binney  and  Latham  of  Mark  Lane, 
London:  from  whom,  indeed,  old  Doctor  Portman  had 


PENDENNIS  271 

recommended  Pen  to  get  a  supply  of  port  and  sherry  on 
going  to  college.  '  You  will  have,  no  doubt,  to  entertain 
your  young  friends  at  Boniface  with  wine  parties,"  the 
honest  rector  had  remarked  to  the  lad.  '  They  used  to 
be  customary  at  college  in  my  time,  and  I  would  advise 
you  to  employ  an  honest  and  respectable  house  in  Lon- 
don for  your  small  stock  of  wine,  rather  than  to  have 
recourse  to  the  Oxbridge  tradesmen,  whose  liquor,  if  I 
remember  rightly,  was  both  deleterious  in  quality  and 
exorbitant  in  price."  And  the  obedient  young  gentle- 
man took  the  Doctor's  advice,  and  patronised  Messrs. 
Binney  and  Latham  at  the  rector's  suggestion. 

So  when  he  wrote  orders  for  a  stock  of  wine  to  be  sent 
down  to  the  cellars  at  Fairoaks,  he  hinted  that  Messrs. 
B.  and  L.  might  send  in  his  university  account  for  wine 
at  the  same  time  with  the  Fairoaks  bill.  The  poor  widow 
was  frightened  at  the  amount.  But  Pen  laughed  at  her 
old-fashioned  views,  said  that  the  bill  was  moderate,  that 
everybody  drank  claret  and  champagne  now,  and 
finally,  the  widow  paid,  feeling  dimly  that  the  expenses 
of  her  household  were  increasing  considerably,  and  that 
her  narrow  income  would  scarce  suffice  to  meet  them. 
But  they  were  only  occasional.  Pen  merely  came  home 
for  a  few  weeks  at  the  vacation.  Laura  and  she  might 
pinch  when  he  was  gone.  In  the  brief  time  he  was  with 
them  ought  they  not  to  make  him  happy? 

Arthur's  own  allowances  were  liberal  all  this  time; 
indeed,  much  more  so  than  those  of  the  sons  of  far  more 
wealthy  men.  Years  before,  the  thrifty  and  affectionate 
John  Pendennis,  whose  darling  project  it  had  ever  been 
to  give  his  son  a  university  education,  and  those  advan- 
tages of  which  his  own  father's  extravagance  had  de- 
prived him,  had  begun  laying  by  "a  store  of  money  which 


272  PENDENNIS 

he  called  Arthur's  Education  Fund.  Year  after  year  in 
his  book  his  executors  found  entries  of  sums  vested  as 
A.E.F.,  and  during  the  period  subsequent  to  her  hus- 
band's decease,  and  before  Pen's  entry  at  college,  the 
widow  had  added  sundry  sums  to  this  fund,  so  that  when 
Arthur  went  up  to  Oxbridge  it  reached  no  inconsidera- 
ble amount.  Let  him  be  liberally  allowanced,  was  Ma- 
jor Pendennis's  maxim.  Let  him  make  his  first  entree 
into  the  world  as  a  gentleman,  and  take  his  place  with 
men  of  good  rank  and  station;  after  giving  it  to  him, 
it  will  be  his  own  duty  to  hold  it.  There  is  no  such  bad 
policy  as  stinting  a  boy — or  putting  him  on  a  lower  al- 
lowance than  his  fellows.  Arthur  will  have  to  face  the 
world  and  fight  for  himself  presently.  Meanwhile  we 
shall  have  procured  for  him  good  friends,  gentlemanly 
habits,  and  have  him  well  backed  and  well  trained  against 
the  time  when  the  real  struggle  comes.  And  these  liberal 
opinions  the  Major  probably  advanced  both  because  they 
were  just,  and  because  he  was  not  dealing  with  his  own 
money. 

Thus  young  Pen,  the  only  son  of  an  estated  country 
gentleman,  with  a  good  allowance,  and  a  gentlemanlike 
bearing  and  person,  looked  to  be  a  lad  of  much  more 
consequence  than  he  was  really;  and  was  held  by  the 
Oxbridge  authorities,  tradesmen,  and  undergraduates, 
as  quite  a  young  buck  and  member  of  the  aristocracy. 
His  manner  was  frank,  brave,  and  perhaps  a  little  im- 
pertinent, as  becomes  a  high-spirited  youth.  He  was 
perfectly  generous  and  free-handed  with  his  money, 
which  seemed  pretty  plentiful.  He  loved  joviality,  and 
had  a  good  voice  for  a  song.  Boat-racing  had  not  risen 
in  Pen's  time  to  the  fureur  which,  as  we  are  given  to 
understand,  it  has  since  attained  in  the  university;  and 


PENDENNIS  273 

riding  and  tandem-driving  were  the  fashions  of  the  in- 
genuous youth.  Pen  rode  well  to  hounds,  appeared  in 
pink,  as  became  a  young  buck,  and  not  particularly  ex- 
travagant in  equestrian  or  any  other  amusement,  yet 
managed  to  run  up  a  fine  bill  at  Nile's,  the  livery  stable- 
keeper,  and  in  a  number  of  other  quarters.  In  fact,  this 
lucky  young  gentleman  had  almost  every  taste  to  a 
considerable  degree.  He  was  very  fond  of  books  of  all 
sorts :  Doctor  Portman  had  taught  him  to  like  rare  edi- 
tions, and  his  own  taste  led  him  to  like  beautiful  bind- 
ings. It  was  marvellous  what  tall  copies,  and  gilding, 
and  marbling,  and  blind-tooling,  the  booksellers  and 
binders  put  upon  Pen's  book-shelves.  He  had  a  very 
fair  taste  in  matters  of  art,  and  a  keen  relish  for  prints 
of  a  high  school — none  of  your  French  Opera  Dancers, 
or  tawdry  Racing  Prints,  such  as  had  delighted  the 
simple  eyes  of  Mr.  Spicer,  his  predecessor — but  your 
Stranges,  and  Rembrandt-etchings,  and  Wilkies  before 
the  letter,  with  which  his  apartments  were  furnished 
presently  in  the  most  perfect  good  taste,  as  was  allowed 
in  the  university,  where  this  young  fellow  got  no  small 
reputation.  We  have  mentioned  that  he  exhibited  a 
certain  partiality  for  rings,  jewellery,  and  fine  raiment 
of  all  sorts ;  and  it  must  be  owned  that  Mr.  Pen,  during 
his  time  at  the  university,  was  rather  a  dressy  man,  and 
loved  to  array  himself  in  splendour.  He  and  his  polite 
friends  would  dress  themselves  out  with  as  much  care  in 
order  to  go  and  dine  at  each  other's  rooms,  as  other  folks 
would  who  were  going  to  enslave  a  mistress.  They  said 
he  used  to  wear  rings  over  his  kid  gloves,  which  he  always 
denies;  but  what  follies  will  not  youth  perpetrate  with 
its  own  admirable  gravity  and  simplicity?  That  he  took 
perfumed  baths  is  a  truth;  and  he  used  to  say  that  he 


274  PENDENNIS 

took  them  after  meeting  certain  men  of  a  very  low  set 
in  hall. 

In  Pen's  second  year,  when  Miss  Fotheringay  made 
her  chief  hit  in  London,  and  scores  of  prints  were  pub- 
lished of  her,  Pen  had  one  of  these  hung  in  his  bed-room, 
and  confided  to  the  men  of  his  set  how  awfully,  how 
wildly,  how  madly,  how  passionately,  he  had  loved  that 
woman.  He  showed  them  in  confidence  the  verses  that 
he  had  written  to  her,  and  his  brow  would  darken,  his 
eyes  roll,  his  chest  heave  with  emotion  as  he  recalled  that 
fatal  period  of  his  life,  and  described  the  woes  and  ago- 
nies which  he  had  suffered.  The  verses  were  copied  out, 
handed  about,  sneered  at,  admired,  passed  from  coterie 
to  coterie.  There  are  few  things  which  elevate  a  lad  in 
the  estimation  of  his  brother  boys,  more  than  to  have  a 
character  for  a  great  and  romantic  passion.  Perhaps 
there  is  something  noble  in  it  at  all  times— among  very 
young  men,  it  is  considered  heroic— Pen  was  pro- 
nounced a  tremendous  fellow.  They  said  he  had  almost 
committed  suicide:  that  he  had  fought  a  duel  with  a 
baronet  about  her.  Freshmen  pointed  him  out  to  each 
other.  As  at  the  promenade  time  at  two  o'clock  he 
swaggered  out  of  college,  surrounded  by  his  cronies,  he 
was  famous  to  behold.  He  was  elaborately  attired.  He 
would  ogle  the  ladies  who  came  to  lionise  the  University, 
and  passed  before  him  on  the  arms  of  happy  gownsmen, 
and  give  his  opinion  upon  their  personal  charms,  or  their 
toilettes,  with  the  gravity  of  a  critic  whose  experience 
entitled  him  to  speak  with  authority.  Men  used  to  say 
that  they  had  been  walking  with  Pendennis,  and  were 
as  pleased  to  be  seen  in  his  company  as  some  of  us  would 
be  if  we  walked  with  a  duke  down  Pall  Mall.  He  and 
the  Proctor  capped  each  other  as  they  met,  as  if  they 


275 

were  rival  powers,  and  the  men  hardly  knew  which  was 
the  greater. 

In  fact,  in  the  course  of  his  second  year,  Arthur  Pen- 
dennis  had  become  one  of  the  men  of  fashion  in  the 
university.  It  is  curious  to  watch  that  facile  admiration, 


and  simple  fidelity  of  youth.  They  hang  round  a  leader : 
and  wonder  at  him,  and  love  him,  and  imitate  him.  No 
generous  boy  ever  lived,  I  suppose,  that  has  not  had 
some  wonderment  of  admiration  for  another  boy;  and 
Monsieur  Pen  at  Oxbridge  had  his  school,  his  faithful 
band  of  friends,  and  his  rivals.  When  the  young  men 
heard  at  the  haberdasher's  shops  that  Mr.  Pendennis, 
of  Boniface,  had  just  ordered  a  crimson  satin  cravat, 
you  would  see  a  couple  of  dozen  crimson  satin  cravats 


276  PENDENNIS 

in  Main  Street  in  the  course  of  the  week— and  Simon, 
the  Jeweller,  was  known  to  sell  no  less  than  two  gross 
of  Pendennis's  pins,  from  a  pattern  which  the  young 
gentleman  had  selected  in  his  shop. 

Now  if  any  person  with  an  arithmetical  turn  of  mind 
will  take  the  trouble  to  calculate  what  a  sum  of  money 
it  would  cost  a  young  man  to  indulge  freely  in  all  the 
above  propensities  which  we  have  said  Mr.  Pen  pos- 
sessed, it  will  be  seen  that  a  young  fellow,  with  such  lib- 
eral tastes  and  amusements,  must  needs  in  the  course  of 
two  or  three  years  spend  or  owe  a  very  handsome  sum 
of  money.  We  have  said  our  friend  Pen  had  not  a  calcu- 
lating turn.  No  one  propensity  of  his  was  outrageously 
extravagant:  and  it  is  certain  that  Paddington's  tailor's 
account;  Guttlebury's  cook's  bill  for  dinners;  Dilley 
Tandy's  bill  with  Finn,  the  print-seller,  for  Raphael- 
Morghens,  and  Landseer  proofs,  and  Wormall's  deal- 
ings with  Parkton,  the  great  bookseller,  for  Aldine  edi- 
tions, black-letter  folios,  and  richly  illuminated  Missals 
of  the  XVI.  Century;  and  Snaffle's  or  Foker's  score 
with  Nile  the  horse-dealer,  were,  each  and  all  of  them, 
incomparably  greater  that  any  little  bills  which  Mr.  Pen 
might  run  up  with  the  above-mentioned  tradesmen.  But 
Pendennis  of  Boniface  had  the  advantage  over  all  these 
young  gentlemen,  his  friends  and  associates,  of  a  uni- 
versality of  taste:  and  whereas  young  Lord  Padding- 
ton  did  not  care  two-pence  for  the  most  beautiful  print, 
or  to  look  into  any  gilt  frame  that  had  not  a  mirror 
within  it ;  and  Guttlebury  did  not  mind  in  the  least  how 
he  was  dressed,  and  had  an  aversion  for  horse  exercise, 
nay  a  terror  of  it;  and  Snaffle  never  read  any  printed 
works  but  the  "  Racing  Calendar,"  or  "  Bell's  Life,"  or 
cared  for  any  manuscript  except  his  greasy  little  scrawl 


PENDENNIS  277 

of  a  betting-book: — our  catholic-minded  young  friend 
occupied  himself  in  every  one  of  the  branches  of  science 
or  pleasure  above-mentioned,  and  distinguished  himself 
tolerably  in  each. 

Hence  young  Pen  got  a  prodigious  reputation  in  the 
university,  and  was  hailed  as  a  sort  of  Crichton ;  and  as 
for  the  English  verse  prize,  in  competition  for  which  we 
have  seen  him  busily  engaged  at  Fairoaks,  Jones  of 
Jesus  carried  it  that  year  certainly,  but  the  undergrad- 
uates thought  Pen's  a  much  finer  poem,  and  he  had  his 
verses  printed  at  his  own  expense,  and  distributed  in 
gilt  morocco  covers  amongst  his  acquaintance.  I  found 
a  copy  of  it  lately  in  a  dusty  corner  of  Mr.  Pen's  book- 
cases, and  have  it  before  me  this  minute,  bound  up  in  a 
collection  of  old  Oxbridge  tracts,  university  statutes, 
prize  poems  by  successful  and  unsuccessful  candidates, 
declamations  recited  in  the  college  chapel,  speeches  de- 
livered at  the  Union  Debating  Society,  and  inscribed 
by  Arthur  with  his  name  and  college,  Pendennis — Boni- 
face; or  presented  to  him  by  his  affectionate  friend 
Thompson  or  Jackson,  the  author.  How  strange  the 
epigraphs  look  in  those  half -boyish  hands,  and  what  a 
thrill  the  sight  of  the  documents  gives  one  after  the  lapse 
of  a  few  lustres !  How  fate,  since  that  time,  has  removed 
some,  estranged  others,  dealt  awfully  with  all.  Many 
a  hand  is  cold  that  wrote  those  kindly  memorials,  and 
that  we  pressed  in  the  confident  and  generous  grasp  of 
youthful  friendship.  What  passions  our  friendships 
were  in  those  old  days,  how  artless  and  void  of  doubt! 
How  the  arm  you  were  never  tired  of  having  linked  in 
yours  under  the  fair  college  avenues  or  by  the  river  side, 
where  it  washes  Magdalen  Gardens,  or  Christ  Church 
Meadows,  or  winds  by  Trinity  and  King's,  was  with- 


278  PENDEXNIS 

drawn  of  necessity,  when  you  entered  presently  the 
world,  and  each  parted  to  push  and  struggle  for  himself 
through  the  great  mob  on  the  way  through  life!  Are 
we  the  same  men  now  that  wrote  those  inscriptions— that 
read  those  poems?  that  delivered  or  heard  those  essays 
and  speeches  so  simple,  so  pompous,  so  ludicrously  sol- 
emn ;  parodied  so  artlessly  from  books,  and  spoken  with 
smug  chubby  faces,  and  such  an  admirable  aping  of 
wisdom  and  gravity  ?  Here  is  the  book  before  me :  it  is 
scarcely  fifteen  years  old.  Here  is  Jack  moaning  with 
despair  and  Byronic  misanthropy,  whose  career  at  the 
university  was  one  of  unmixed  milk-punch.  Here  is 
Tom's  daring  Essay  in  defence  of  suicide  and  of  re- 
publicanism in  general,  a  propos  of  the  death  of  Roland 
and  the  Girondins — Tom's,  who  wears  the  starchest  tie 
in  all  the  diocese,  and  would  go  to  Smithfield  rather  than 
eat  a  beefsteak  on  a  Friday  in  Lent.  Here  is  Bob,  of  the 
-  Circuit,  who  has  made  a  fortune  in  Railroad  Com- 
mittees,—bellowing  out  with  Tancred  and  Godfrey, 
"  On  to  the  breach,  ye  soldiers  of  the  cross.  Scale  the 
red  wall  and  swim  the  choking  foss.  Ye  dauntless 
archers,  twang  your  cross-bows  well;  On,  bill  and  bat- 
tle-axe and  mangonel !  Ply  battering-ram  and  hurtling 
catapult,  Jerusalem  is  ours— id  Deus  vult"  After 
which  comes  a  mellifluous  description  of  the  gardens  of 
Sharon  and  the  maids  of  Salem,  and  a  prophecy  that 
roses  shall  deck  the  entire  country  of  Syria,  and  a  speedy 
reign  of  peace  be  established— all  in  undeniably  decasyl- 
labic lines,  and  the  queerest  aping  of  sense  and  sentiment 
and  poetry.  And  there  are  Essays  and  Poems  along 
with  these  grave  parodies,  and  boyish  exercises  (which 
are  at  once  frank  and  false,  and  so  mirthful,  yet,  some- 
how, so  mournful),  by  youthful  hands,  that  shall  never 


PENDENNIS  279 

write  more.  Fate  has  interposed  darkly,  and  the  young 
voices  are  silent,  and  the  eager  brains  have  ceased  to 
work.  This  one  had  genius  and  a  great  descent,  and 
seemed  to  be  destined  for  honours  which  now  are  of  little 
worth  to  him:  that  had  virtue,  learning,  genius — every 
faculty  and  endowment  which  might  secure  love,  admira- 
tion, and  worldly  fame :  an  obscure  and  solitary  church- 
yard contains  the  grave  of  many  fond  hopes,  and  the 
pathetic  stone  which  bids  them  farewell.  I  saw  the  sun 
shining  on  it  in  the  fall  of  last  year,  and  heard  the  sweet 
village  choir  raising  anthems  round  about.  What  boots 
whether  it  be  Westminster  or  a  little  country  spire  which 
covers  your  ashes,  or  if,  a  few  days  sooner  or  later,  the 
world  forgets  you? 

Amidst  these  friends  then,  and  a  host  more,  Pen 
passed  more  than  two  brilliant  and  happy  years  of  his 
life.  He  had  his  fill  of  pleasure  and  popularity.  No 
dinner  or  supper-party  was  complete  without  him;  and 
Pen's  jovial  wit,  and  Pen's  songs,  and  dashing  courage, 
and  frank  and  manly  bearing,  charmed  all  the  under- 
graduates. Though  he  became  the  favourite  and  leader 
of  young  men  who  were  much  his  superiors  in  wealth  and 
station,  he  was  much  too  generous  to  endeavour  to  pro- 
pitiate them  by  any  meanness  or  cringing  on  his  own 
part,  and  would  not  neglect  the  humblest  man  of  his 
acquaintance  in  order  to  curry  favour  with  the  richest 
young  grandee  in  the  university.  His  name  is  still  re- 
membered at  the  Union  Debating  Club,  as  one  of  the 
brilliant  orators  of  his  day.  By  the  way,  from  having 
been  an  ardent  Tory  in  his  freshman's  year,  his  princi- 
ples took  a  sudden  turn  afterwards,  and  he  became  a 
Liberal  of  the  most  violent  order.  He  avowed  himself 
a  Dantonist,  and  asserted  that  Louis  the  Sixteenth  was 


280  PENDENNIS 

served  right.  And  as  for  Charles  the  First,  he  vowed 
that  he  would  chop  off  that  monarch's  head  with  his  own 
right  hand  were  he  then  in  the  room  at  the  Union  De- 
bating Club,  and  had  Cromwell  no  other  executioner  for 
the  traitor.  He  and  Lord  Magnus  Charters,  the  Mar- 
quis of  Runnymede's  son,  before-mentioned,  were  the 
most  truculent  republicans  of  their  day. 

There  are  reputations  of  this  sort  made  quite  inde- 
pendent of  the  collegiate  hierarchy,  in  the  republic  of 
gownsmen.  A  man  may  be  famous  in  the  Honour-lists 
and  entirely  unknown  to  the  undergraduates :  who  elect 
kings  and  chieftains  of  their  own,  whom  they  admire 
and  obey,,  as  negro-gangs  have  private  black  sovereigns 
in  their  own  body,  to  whom  they  pay  an  occult  obedience, 
besides  that  which  they  publicly  profess  for  their  owners 
and  drivers.  Among  the  young  ones  Pen  became  fa- 
mous and  popular:  not  that  he  did  much,  but  there  was 
a  general  determination  that  he  could  do  a  great  deal  if 
he  chose.  "  Ah,  if  Pendennis  of  Boniface  would  but 
try,"  the  men  said,  "  he  might  do  anything."  He  was 
backed  for  the  Greek  Ode  won  by  Smith  of  Trinity; 
everybody  was  sure  he  would  have  the  Latin  hexameter 
prize  which  Brown  of  St.  John's,  however,  carried  off, 
and  in  this  way  one  university  honour  after  another  was 
lost  by  him,  until,  after  two  or  three  failures,  Mr.  Pen 
ceased  to  compete.  But  he  got  a  declamation  prize  in 
his  own  college,  and  brought  home  to  his  mother  and 
Laura  at  Fairoaks  a  set  of  prize-books  begilt  with  the 
college  arms,  and  so  big,  well-bound,  and  magnificent, 
that  these  ladies  thought  there  had  been  no  such  prize 
ever  given  in  a  college  before  as  this  of  Pen's,  and  that 
he  had  won  the  very  largest  honour  which  Oxbridge  was 
capable  of  awarding. 


PENDENNIS  281 

As  vacation  after  vacation  and  term  after  term 
passed  away  without  the  desired  news  that  Pen  had 
sate  for  any  scholarship  or  won  any  honour,  Doctor 
Portman  grew  mightily  gloomy  in  his  behaviour  towards 
Arthur,  and  adopted  a  sulky  grandeur  of  deport- 
ment towards  him,  which  the  lad  returned  by  a 
similar  haughtiness.  One  vacation  he  did  not  call  upon 
the  Doctor  at  all,  much  to  his  mother's  annoyance,  who 
thought  that  it  was  a  privilege  to  enter  the  Rectory- 
house  at  Clavering,  and  listened  to  Dr.  Portman's 
antique  jokes  and  stories,  though  ever  so  often 
repeated,  with  unfailing  veneration.  "  I  cannot  stand 
the  Doctor's  patronising  air,"  Pen  said.  "  He's  too 
kind  to  me,  a  great  deal  too  fatherly.  I  have  seen  in 
the  world  better  men  than  him,  and  I  am  not  going  to 
bore  myself  by  listening  to  his  dull  old  stories."  The 
tacit  feud  between  Pen  and  the  Doctor  made  the  widow 
nervous,  so  that  she  too  avoided  Portman,  and  was  afraid 
to  go  to  the  Rectory  when  Arthur  was  at  home. 

One  Sunday  in  the  last  long  vacation,  the  wretched 
boy  pushed  his  rebellious  spirit  so  far  as  not  to  go  to 
church,  and  he  was  seen  at  the  gate  of  the  Clavering 
Arms  smoking  a  cigar,  in  the  face  of  the  congregation  as 
it  issued  from  St.  Mary's.  There  was  an  awful  sensa- 
tion in  the  village  society,  Portman  prophesied  Pen's 
ruin  after  that,  and  groaned  in  spirit  over  the  rebellious 
young  prodigal. 

So  did  Helen  tremble  in  her  heart,  and  little  Laura — 
Laura  had  grown  to  be  a  fine  young  stripling  by  this 
time,  graceful  and  fair,  clinging  round  Helen  and  wor- 
shipping her,  with  a  passionate  affection.  Both  of  these 
women  felt  that  their  boy  was  changed.  He  was  no 
longer  the  artless  Pen  of  old  days,  so  brave,  so  artless, 


282  PENDENNIS 

so  impetuous,  and  tender.  His  face  looked  careworn 
and  haggard,  his  voice  had  a  deeper  sound,  and  tones 
more  sarcastic.  Care  seemed  to  be  pursuing  him;  but 
he  only  laughed  when  his  mother  questioned  him,  and 
parried  her  anxious  queries  with  some  scornful  jest. 
Nor  did  he  spend  much  of  his  vacations  at  home;  he 
went  on  visits  to  one  great  friend  or  another,  and  scared 
the  quiet  pair  at  Fairoaks  by  stories  of  great  houses 
whither  he  had  been  invited,  and  by  talking  of  lords 
without  their  titles. 

Honest  Harry  Foker,  who  had  been  the  means  of 
introducing  Arthur  Pendennis  to  that  set  of  young  men 
at  the  university,  from  whose  society  and  connections 
Arthur's  uncle  expected  that  the  lad  would  get  so  much 
benefit;  who  had  called  for  Arthur's  first  song  at  his 
first  supper-party;  and  who  had  presented  him  at  the 
Barmecide  Club,  where  none  but  the  very  best  men  of 
Oxbridge  were  admitted  (it  consisted  in  Pen's  time  of 
six  noblemen,  eight  gentlemen  pensioners,  and  twelve 
of  the  most  select  commoners  of  the  university),  soon 
found  himself  left  far  behind  by  the  young  freshman 
in  the  fashionable  world  of  Oxbridge,  and  being  a  gen- 
erous and  worthy  fellow,  without  a  spark  of  envy  in  his 
composition,  was  exceedingly  pleased  at  the  success  of 
his  young  protege,  and  admired  Pen  quite  as  much  as 
any  of  the  other  youth  did.  It  was  he  who  followed 
Pen  now,  and  quoted  his  sayings ;  learned  his  songs,  and 
retailed  them  at  minor  supper-parties,  and  was  never 
weary  of  hearing  them  from  the  gifted  young  poet's 
own  mouth— for  a  good  deal  of  the  time  which  Mr.  Pen 
might  have  employed  much  more  advantageously  in  the 
pursuit  of  the  regular  scholastic  studies,  was  given  up 
to  the  composition  of  secular  ballads,  which  he  sang 
about  at  parties  according  to  university  wont. 


PENDENNIS  283 

It  had  been  as  well  for  Arthur  if  the  honest  Foker 
had  remained  for  some  time  at  college,  for,  with  all  his 
vivacity,  he  was  a  prudent  young  man,  and  often  curbed 
Pen's  propensity  to  extravagance:  but  Foker's  collegi- 
ate career  did  not  last  very  long  after  Arthur's  entrance 
at  Boniface.  Repeated  differences  with  the  university 
authorities  caused  Mr.  Foker  to  quit  Oxbridge  in  an 
untimely  manner.  He  would  persist  in  attending  races 
on  the  neighbouring  Hungerford  Heath,  in  spite  of  the 
injunctions  of  his  academic  superiors.  He  never  could 
be  got  to  frequent  the  chapel  of  the  college  with  that 
regularity  of  piety  which  Alma  Mater  demands  from 
her  children;  tandems,  which  are  abominations  in  the 
eyes  of  the  heads  and  tutors,  were  Foker's  greatest  de- 
light, and  so  reckless  was  his  driving  and  frequent  the 
accidents  and  upsets  out  of  his  drag,  that  Pen  called 
taking  a  drive  with  him  taking  the  "  Diversions  of  Pur- 
ley  ;  "  finally,  having  a  dinner-party  at  his  rooms  to  en- 
tertain some  friends  from  London,  nothing  would 
satisfy  Mr.  Foker  but  painting  Mr.  Buck's  door  ver- 
milion, in  which  freak  he  was  caught  by  the  proctor; 
and  although  young  Black  Strap,  the  celebrated  negro- 
fighter,  who  was  one  of  Mr.  Foker's  distinguished  guests, 
and  was  holding  the  can  of  paint  while  the  young  artist 
operated  on  the  door,  knocked  down  two  of  the  proctor's 
attendants  and  performed  prodigies  of  valour,  yet  these 
feats  rather  injured  than  served  Foker,  whom  the  proc- 
tor knew  very  well  and  who  was  taken  with  the  brush  in 
his  hand,  summarily  convened  and  sent  down  from  the 
university. 

The  tutor  wrote  a  very  kind  and  feeling  letter  to  Lady 
Agnes  on  the  subject,  stating  that  everybody  was  fond 
of  the  youth ;  that  he  never  meant  harm  to  any  mortal 
creature;  that  he  for  his  own  part  would  have  been 


284  PENDENNIS 

delighted  to  pardon  the  harmless  little  boyish  frolic,  had 
not  its  unhappy  publicity  rendered  it  impossible  to  look 
the  freak  over,  and  breathing  the  most  fervent  wishes 
for  the  young  fellow's  welfare — wishes  no  doubt  sincere, 
for  Foker,  as  we  know,  came  of  a  noble  family  on  his 
mother's  side,  and  on  the  other  was  heir  to  a  great  num- 
ber of  thousand  pounds  a  year. 

"  It  don't  matter,"  said  Foker,  talking  over  the  matter 
with  Pen,—  "  a  little  sooner  or  a  little  later,  what  is  the 
odds?  I  should  have  been  plucked  for  my  little  go 
again,  I  know  I  should — that  Latin  I  cannot  screw  into 
my  head,  and  my  mamma's  anguish  would  have  broke 
out  next  term.  The  Governor  will  blow  like  an  old 
grampus,  I  know  he  will, — well,  we  must  stop  till  he 
gets  his  wind  again.  I  shall  probably  go  abroad  and 
improve  my  mind  with  foreign  travel.  Yes,  parly  voo's 
the  ticket.  It'ly,  and  that  sort  of  thing.  I'll  go  to  Paris, 
and  learn  to  dance  and  complete  my  education.  But 
it's  not  me  I'm  anxious  about,  Pen.  As  long  as  people 
drink  beer  I  don't  care, — it's  about  you  I'm  doubtful, 
my  boy.  You're  going  too  fast,  and  can't  keep  up  the 
pace,  I  tell  you.  It's  not  the  fifty  you  owe  me, — pay  it 
or  not  when  you  like, — but  it's  the  every-day  pace,  and 
I  tell  you  it  will  kill  you.  You're  livin'  as  if  there  was 
no  end  to  the  money  in  the  stockin'  at  home.  You 
oughtn't  to  give  dinners,  you  ought  to  eat  'em.  Fellows 
are  glad  to  have  you.  You  oughtn't  to  owe  horse  bills, 
you  ought  to  ride  other  chaps'  nags.  You  know  no  more 
about  betting  than  I  do  about  algebra:  the  chaps  will 
win  your  money  as  sure  as  you  sport  it.  Hang  me  if 
you  are  not  trying  at  everything.  I  saw  you  sit  down 
to  icarte  last  week  at  Trumpington's,  and  taking  your 
turn  with  the  bones  after  Ringwood's  supper.  They'll 


PENDENNIS  285 

beat  you  at  it,  Pen,  my  boy,  even  if  they  play  on  the 
square,  which  I  don't  say  they  don't,  nor  which  I  don't 
say  they  do,  mind.  But  I  won't  play  with  'em.  You're 
no  match  for  'em.  You  ain't  up  to  their  weight.  It's 
like  little  Black  Strap  standing  up  to  Tom  Spring, — 
the  Black's  a  pretty  fighter,  but,  Law  bless  you,  his  arm 
ain't  long  enough  to  touch  Tom, — and  I  tell  you,  you're 
going  it  with  fellers  beyond  your  weight.  Look  here — 
If  you'll  promise  me  never  to  bet  nor  touch  a  box  nor  a 
card,  I'll  let  you  off  the  two  ponies." 

But  Pen,  laughingly,  said,  "  that  though  it  wasn't 
convenient  to  him  to  pay  the  two  ponies  at  that  moment, 
he  by  no  means  wished  to  be  let  off  any  just  debts  he 
owed;"  and  he  and  Foker  parted  not  without  many 
dark  forebodings  on  the  latter's  part  with  regard  to  his 
friend,  who  Harry  thought  was  travelling  speedily  on 
the  road  to  ruin. 

"  One  must  do  at  Rome  as  Rome  does,"  Pen  said,  in 
a  dandified  manner,  jingling  some  sovereigns  in  his 
waistcoat  pocket.  "  A  little  quiet  play  at  ecarte  can't 
hurt  a  man  who  plays  pretty  well — I  came  away  four- 
teen sovereigns  richer  from  Ringwood's  supper,  and, 
gad!  I  wanted  the  money." — And  he  walked  off,  after 
having  taken  leave  of  poor  Foker,  who  went  away  with- 
out any  beat  of  drum,  or  offer  to  drive  the  coach  out  of 
Oxbridge,  to  superintend  a  little  dinner  which  he  was 
going  to  give  at  his  own  rooms  in  Boniface,  about  which 
dinners,  the  cook  of  the  college,  who  had  a  great  respect 
for  Mr.  Pendennis,  always  took  especial  pains  for  his 
young  favourite. 


CHAPTER  XIX 


RAKES   PROGRESS 

O  in  Pen's  second 
year  Major 
Pendennis  paid 
a  brief  visit  to 
his  nephew,  and 
was  introduced 
to  several  of 
Pen's  univer- 
sity friends— 
the  gentle  and 
polite  Lord 
Plinlimmon,  the 
gallant  and 
open-hearted  Magnus  Charters,  the  sly  and  witty  Har- 
land ;  the  intrepid  Ringwood,  who  was  called  Rupert  in 
the  Union  Debating  Club,  from  his  opinions  and  the 
bravery  of  his  blunders;  Broadbent,  styled  Barebones 
Broadbent  from  the  republican  nature  of  his  opinions  (he 
was  of  a  dissenting  family  from  Bristol,  and  a  perfect 
Boanerges  of  debate) ;  and  Bloundell-Bloundell,  whom 
Mr.  Pen  entertained  at  a  dinner  whereof  his  uncle  was 
the  chief  guest. 

The  Major  said,  "  Pen,  my  boy,  your  dinner  went  off 
a  merveille;  you  did  the  honours  very  nicely— you 
carved  well— I  am  glad  you  learned  to  carve— it  is  done 
on  the  side-board  now  in  most  good  houses,  but  is  still 


PENDENNIS  287 

an  important  point,  and  may  aid  you  in  middle-life — 
young  Lord  Plinlimmon  is  a  very  amiable  young  man, 
quite  the  image  of  his  dear  mother  (whom  I  knew  as 
Lady  Aquila  Brownbill)  ;  and  Lord  Magnus's  republi- 
canism will  wear  off — it  sits  prettily  enough  on  a  young 
patrician  in  early  life,  though  nothing  is  so  loathsome 
among  persons  of  our  rank — Mr.  Broadbent  seems  to 
have  much  eloquence  and  considerable  reading;  your 
friend  Foker  is  always  delightful;  but  your  acquain- 
tance, Mr.  Bloundell,  struck  me  as  in  all  respects  a  most 
ineligible  young  man." 

"  Bless  my  soul,  sir,  Bloundell-Bloundell !  "  cried  Pen, 
laughing:  "  why,  sir,  he's  the  most  popular  man  of  the 

university.  He  was  in  the  Dragoons  before  he 

came  up.  We  elected  him  of  the  Barmecides  the  first 
week  he  came  up— had  a  special  meeting  on  purpose — 
he's  of  an  excellent  family — Suffolk  Bloundells,  de- 
scended from  Richard's  Blondel,  bear  a  harp  in  chief — 
and  motto  O  Mong  Roy." 

"  A  man  may  have  a  very  good  coat-of-arms,  and  be 
a  tiger,  my  boy,"  the  Major  said,  chipping  his  egg; 
"  that  man  is  a  tiger,  mark  my  word — a  low  man.  I 
will  lay  a  wager  that  he  left  his  regiment,  which  was  a 
good  one  (for  a  more  respectable  man  than  my  friend, 
Lord  Martingale,  never  sat  in  a  saddle),  in  bad  odour. 
There  is  the  unmistakable  look  of  slang  and  bad  habits 
about  this  Mr.  Bloundell.  He  frequents  low  gambling- 
houses  and  billiard  hells,  sir— he  haunts  third-rate  clubs 
— I  know  he  does.  I  know  by  his  style.  I  never  was 
mistaken  in  my  man  yet.  Did  you  remark  the  quantity 
of  rings  and  jewellery  he  wore?  That  person  has  Scamp 
written  on  his  countenance,  if  any  man  ever  had.  Mark 
my  words  and  avoid  him.  Let  us  turn  the  conversation. 


288  PENDENNIS 

The  dinner  was  a  leetle  too  fine,  but  I  don't  object  to 
your  making  a  few  extra  frais  when  you  receive  friends. 
Of  course  you  don't  do  it  often,  and  only  those  whom  it 
is  your  interest  to  Jeter.  The  cutlets  were  excellent,  and 
the  souffle  uncommonly  light  and  good.  The  third  bottle 
of  champagne  was  not  necessary;  but  you  have  a  good 
income,  and  as  long  as  you  keep  within  it,  I  shall  not 
quarrel  with  you,  my  dear  boy."  , 

Poor  Pen!  the  worthy  uncle  little  knew  how  often 
those  dinners  took  place,  while  the  reckless  young  Am- 
phitryon delighted  to  show  his  hospitality  and  skill  in 
gourmandise.  There  is  no  art  about  which  boys  are  more 
anxious  to  have  an  air  of  knowingness.  A  taste  and 
knowledge  of  wines  and  cookery  appears  to  them  to  be 
the  sign  of  an  accomplished  roue  and  manly  gentleman. 
Pen,  in  his  character  of  Admirable  Crichton,  thought  it 
necessary  to  be  a  great  judge  and  practitioner  of  dinners; 
we  have  just  said  how  the  college  cook  respected  him, 
and  shall  soon  have  to  deplore  that  that  worthy  man  so 
blindly  trusted  our  Pen.  In  the  third  year  of  the  lad's 
residence  at  Oxbridge,  his  staircase  was  by  no  means 
encumbered  with  dish-covers  and  desserts,  and  waiters 
carrying  in  dishes,  and  skips  opening  iced  champagne; 
crowds  of  different  sorts  of  attendants,  with  faces  sulky 
or  piteous,  hung  about  the  outer  oak,  and  assailed  the 
unfortunate  lad  as  he  issued  out  of  his  den. 

Nor  did  his  guardian's  advice  take  any  effect,  or  in- 
duce Mr.  Pen  to  avoid  the  society  of  the  disreputable 
Mr.  Bloundell. 

The  young  magnates  of  the  neighboring  great  Col- 
lege of  St.  George's,  who  regarded  Pen,  and  in  whose 
society  he  lived,  were  not  taken  in  by  Bloundell's  flashy 
graces,  and  rakish  airs  of  fashion.  Broadbent  called  him 


Pen's  Staircase.    1 


A  little  Dinner 


PENDENNIS  289 

Captain  Macheath,  and  said  he  would  live  to  be  hanged. 
Foker,  during  his  brief  stay  at  the  university  with  Mac- 
heath,  with  characteristic  caution,  declined  to  say  any- 
thing in  the  Captain's  disfavour,  but  hinted  to  Pen  that 
he  had  better  have  him  for  a  partner  at  whist  than  play 
against  him,  and  better  back  him  at  ecarte  than  bet  on 
the  other  side.  '  You  see,  he  plays  better  than  you  do, 
Pen,"  was  the  astute  young  gentleman's  remark:  "he 
plays  uncommon  well,  the  Captain  does; — and  Pen,  I 
wouldn't  take  the  odds  too  freely  from  him,  if  I  was 
you.  I  don't  think  he's  too  flush  of  money,  the  Captain 
ain't."  But  beyond  these  dark  suggestions  and  generali- 
ties, the  cautious  Foker  could  not  be  got  to  speak. 

Not  that  his  advice  would  have  had  more  weight  with 
a  headstrong  young  man,  than  advice  commonly  has 
with  a  lad  who  is  determined  on  pursuing  his  own  way. 
Pen's  appetite  for  pleasure  was  insatiable,  and  he  rushed 
at  it  wherever  it  presented  itself,  with  an  eagerness  which 
bespoke  his  fiery  constitution  and  youthful  health.  He 
called  taking  pleasure  "  seeing  life,"  and  quoted  well- 
known  maxims  from  Terence,  from  Horace,  from 
Shakspeare,  to  show  that  one  should  do  all  that  might 
become  a  man.  He  bade  fair  to  be  utterly  used  up  and 
a  roui,  in  a  few  years,  if  he  were  to  continue  at  the  pace 
at  which  he  was  going. 

One  night  after  a  supper-party  in  college,  at  which 
Pen  and  Macheath  had  been  present,  and  at  which  a  little 
quiet  vingt-et-un  had  been  played,  as  the  men  had  taken 
their  caps  and  were  going  away,  after  no  great  losses 
or  winnings  on  any  side,  Mr.  Bloundell  playfully  took 
up  a  green  wine-glass  from  the  supper-table,  which  had 
been  destined  to  contain  iced  cup,  but  into  which  he  in- 
serted something  still  more  pernicious,  namely  a  pair  of 


290  PENDENNIS 

dice,  which  the  gentleman  took  out  of  his  waistcoat  pocket 
and  put  into  the  glass.  Then  giving  the  glass  a  graceful 
wave  which  showed  that  his  hand  was  quite  experienced 
in  the  throwing  of  dice,  he  called  seven's  the  main,  and 
whisking  the  ivory  cubes  gently  on  the  table,  swept  them 
up  lightly  again  from  the  cloth,  and  repeated  this  pro- 
cess two  or  three  times.  The  other  men  looked  on,  Pen, 
of  course,  among  the  number,  who  had  never  used  the 
dice  as  yet,  except  to  play  a  humdrum  game  of  back- 
gammon at  home. 

Mr.  Bloundell,  who  had  a  good  voice,  began  to  troll 
out  the  chorus  from  "  Robert  the  Devil,"  an  Opera  then 
in  great  vogue,  in  which  chorus  many  of  the  men  joined, 
especially  Pen,  who  was  in  very  high  spirits,  having  won 
a  good  number  of  shillings  and  half-crowns  at  the  vingt- 
et-un— and  presently,  instead  of  going  home,  most  of 
the  party  were  seated  round  the  table  playing  at  dice, 
the  green  glass  going  round  from  hand  to  hand  until 
Pen  finally  shivered  it,  after  throwing  six  mains. 

From  that  night  Pen  plunged  into  the  delights  of  the 
game  of  hazard,  as  eagerly  as  it  was  his  custom  to  pur- 
sue any  new  pleasure.  Dice  can  be  played  of  mornings 
as  well  as  after  dinner  or  supper.  Bloundell  would  come 
into  Pen's  rooms  after  breakfast,  and  it  was  astonishing 
how  quick  the  time  passed  as  the  bones  were  rattling. 
They  had  little  quiet  parties  with  closed  doors,  and 
Bloundell  devised  a  box  lined  with  felt,  so  that  the  dice 
should  make  no  noise,  and  their  tell-tale  rattle  not  bring 
the  sharp-eared  tutors  up  to  the  rooms.  Bloundell, 
Ringwood,  and  Pen  were  once  very  nearly  caught  by 
Mr.  Buck,  who,  passing  in  the  Quadrangle,  thought  he 
heard  the  words  "  Two  to  one  on  the  caster,"  through 
Pen's  open  window;  but  when  the  tutor  got  into  Ar- 


PENDENNIS  291 

thur's  rooms  he  found  the  lads  with  three  Homers  be- 
fore them,  and  Pen  said,  he  was  trying  to  coach  the  two 
other  men,  and  asked  Mr.  Buck  with  great  gravity  what 
was  the  present  condition  of  the  River  Scamander,  and 
whether  it  was  navigable  or  no? 

Mr.  Arthur  Pendennis  did  not  win  much  money  in 
these  transactions  with  Mr.  Bloundell,  or  indeed  gain 
good  of  any  kind  except  a  knowledge  of  the  odds  at 
hazard,  which  he  might  have  learned  out  of  books. 

One  Easter  vacation,  when  Pen  had  announced  to  his 
mother  and  uncle  his  intention  not  to  go  down,  but  stay 
at  Oxbridge  and  read,  Mr.  Pen  was  nevertheless  induced 
to  take  a  brief  visit  to  London  in  company  with  his 
friend  Mr.  Bloundell.  They  put  up  at  a  hotel  in  Co- 
vent  Garden,  where  Bloundell  had  a  tick,  as  he  called 
it,  and  took  the  pleasures  of  the  town  very  freely  after 
the  wont  of  young  university  men.  Bloundell  still  be- 
longed to  a  military  club,  whither  he  took  Pen  to  dine 
once  or  twice  (the  young  men  would  drive  thither  in  a 
cab,  trembling  lest  they  should  meet  Major  Pendennis 
on  his  beat  in  Pall  Mall),  and  here  Pen  was  introduced 
to  a  number  of  gallant  young  fellows  with  spurs  and 
moustachios,  with  whom  he  drank  pale-ale  of  mornings 
and  beat  the  town  of  a  night.  Here  he  saw  a  deal  of 
life,  indeed:  nor  in  his  career  about  the  theatres  and 
singing-houses  which  these  roaring  young  blades  fre- 
quented, was  he  very  likely  to  meet  his  guardian.  One 
night,  nevertheless,  they  were  very  near  to  each  other: 
a  plank  only  separating  Pen,  who  was  in  the  boxes  of 
the  Museum  Theatre,  from  the  Major,  who  was  in  Lord 
Steyne's  box,  along  with  that  venerated  nobleman.  The 
Fotheringay  was  in  the  pride  of  her  glory.  She  had 
made  a  hit:  that  is,  she  had  drawn  very  good  houses  for 


292  PENDENNIS 

nearly  a  year,  had  starred  the  provinces  with  great  eclat, 
had  come  back  to  shine  in  London  with  somewhat  dimin- 
ished lustre,  and  now  was  acting  with  "  ever  increasing 
attraction,  &c.,"  "  triumph  of  the  good  old  British 
drama,"  as  the  play-bills  avowed,  to  houses  in  which 
there  was  plenty  of  room  for  anybody  who  wanted  to 
see  her. 

It  was  not  the  first  time  Pen  had  seen  her,  since  that 
memorable  day  when  the  two  had  parted  in  Chatteris. 
In  the  previous  year,  when  the  town  was  making  much 
of  her,  and  the  press  lauded  her  beauty,  Pen  had  found 
a  pretext  for  coming  to  London  in  term-time,  and  had 
rushed  off  to  the  theatre  to  see  his  old  flame.  He  recol- 
lected it  rather  than  renewed  it.  He  remembered  how 
ardently  he  used  to  be  on  the  look  out  at  Chatteris,  when 
the  speech  before  Ophelia's  or  Mrs.  Haller's  entrance  on 
the  stage  was  made  by  the  proper  actor.  Now,  as  the 
actor  spoke,  he  had  a  sort  of  feeble  thrill:  as  the  house 
began  to  thunder  with  applause,  and  Ophelia  entered 
with  her  old  bow  and  sweeping  curtsey,  Pen  felt  a  slight 
shock  and  blushed  very  much  as  he  looked  at  her,  and 
could  not  help  thinking  that  all  the  house  was  regarding 
him.  He  hardly  heard  her  for  the  first  part  of  the  play : 
and  he  thought  with  such  rage  of  the  humiliation  to 
which  she  had  subjected  him,  that  he  began  to  fancy 
he  was  jealous  and  in  love  with  her  still.  But  that  illu- 
sion did  not  last  very  long.  He  ran  round  to  the  stage 
door  of  the  theatre  to  see  her  if  possible,  but  he  did  not 
succeed.  She  passed  indeed  under  his  nose  with  a  fe- 
made  companion,  but  he  did  not  know  her, — nor  did  she 
recognise  him.  The  next  night  he  came  in  late,  and 
stayed  very  quietly  for  the  afterpiece,  and  on  the  third 
and  last  night  of  his  stay  in  London— why,  Taglioni  was 


PENDENNIS  293 

going  to  dance  at  the  Opera, — Taglioni!  and  there  was 
to  be  Don  Giovanni,  which  he  admired  of  all  things 
in  the  world:  so  Mr.  Pen  went  to  Don  Giovanni  and 
Taglioni. 

This  time  the  illusion  about  her  was  quite  gone.  She 
was  not  less  handsome,  but  she  was  not  the  same,  some- 
how. The  light  was  gone  out  of  her  eyes  which  used  to 
flash  there,  or  Pen's  no  longer  were  dazzled  by  it.  The 
rich  voice  spoke  as  of  old,  yet  it  did  not  make  Pen's 
bosom  thrill  as  formerly.  He  thought  he  could  recog- 
nise the  brogue  underneath:  the  accents  seemed  to  him 
coarse  and  false.  It  annoyed  him  to  hear  the  same 
emphasis  on  the  same  words,  only  uttered  a  little  louder : 
worse  than  this,  it  annoyed  him  to  think  that  he  should 
ever  have  mistaken  that  loud  imitation  for  genius,  or 
melted  at  those  mechanical  sobs  and  sighs.  He  felt  that 
it  was  in  another  life  almost,  that  it  was  another  man  who 
had  so  madly  loved  her.  He  was  ashamed  and  bitterly 
humiliated,  and  very  lonely.  Ah,  poor  Pen!  the  delu- 
sion is  better  than  the  truth  sometimes,  and  fine  dreams 
than  dismal  waking. 

They  went  and  had  an  uproarious  supper  that  night, 
and  Mr.  Pen  had  a  fine  headache  the  next  morning,  with 
which  he  went  back  to  Oxbridge,  having  spent  all  his 
ready  money. 

As  all  this  narrative  is  taken  from  Pen's  own  con- 
fessions, so  that  the  reader  may  be  assured  of  the  truth 
of  every  word  of  it,  and  as  Pen  himself  never  had  any 
accurate  notion  of  the  manner  in  which  he  spent  his 
money,  and  plunged  himself  in  much  deeper  pecuniary 
difficulties,  during  his  luckless  residence  at  Oxbridge 
University,  it  is,  of  course,  impossible  for  me  to  give 
any  accurate  account  of  his  involvements,  beyond  that 


294  PENDENNIS 

general  notion  of  his  way  of  life,  which  we  have  sketched 
a  few  pages  back.  He  does  not  speak  too  hardly  of  the 
roguery  of  the  university  tradesmen,  or  of  those  in  Lon- 
don whom  he  honoured  with  his  patronage  at  the  outset 
of  his  career.  Even  Finch,  the  money-lender,  to  whom 
Bloundell  introduced  him,  and  with  whom  he  had  vari- 
ous transactions,  in  which  the  young  rascal's  signature 
appeared  upon  stamped  paper,  treated  him,  according 
to  Pen's  own  account,  with  forbearance,  and  never 
mulcted  him  of  more  than  a  hundred  per  cent.  The  old 
college-cook,  his  fervent  admirer,  made  him  a  private 
bill,  offered  to  send  him  in  dinners  up  to  the  very  last, 
and  never  would  have  pressed  his  account  to  his  dying 
day.  There  was  that  kindness  and  frankness  about  Ar- 
thur Pendennis,  which  won  most  people  who  came  in 
contact  with  him,  and  which,  if  it  rendered  him  an  easy 
prey  to  rogues,  got  him,  perhaps,  more  good-will  than  he 
merited  from  many  honest  men.  It  was  impossible  to 
resist  his  good  nature,  or,  in  his  worst  moments,  not  to 
hope  for  his  rescue  from  utter  ruin. 

At  the  time  of  his  full  career  of  university  pleasure, 
he  would  leave  the  gayest  party  to  go  and  sit  with  a  sick 
friend.  He  never  knew  the  difference  between  small 
and  great  in  the  treatment  of  his  acquaintances,  how- 
ever much  the  unlucky  lad's  tastes,  which  were  of  the 
sumptuous  order,  led  him  to  prefer  good  society ;  he  was 
only  too  ready  to  share  his  guinea  with  a  poor  friend, 
and  when  he  got  money  had  an  irresistible  propensity  for 
paying,  which  he  never  could  conquer  through  life. 

In  his  third  year  at  college,  the  duns  began  to  gather 
awfully  round  about  him,  and  there  was  a  levee  at  his 
oak  which  scandalised  the  tutors,  and  would  have  scared 
many  a  stouter  heart.  With  some  of  these  he  used  to 


PENDENNIS  295 

battle,  some  he  would  bully  (under  Mr.  Bloundell's 
directions,  who  was  a  master  in  this  art,  though  he  took 
a  degree  in  no  other),  and  some  deprecate.  And  it  is 
reported  of  him  that  little  Mary  Frodsham,  the  daughter 
of  a  certain  poor  gilder  and  frame-maker,  whom  Mr. 
Pen  had  thought  fit  to  employ,  and  who  had  made  a 
number  of  beautiful  frames  for  his  fine  prints,  coming 
to  Pendennis  with  a  piteous  tale  that  her  father  was  ill 
with  ague,  and  that  there  was  an  execution  in  their  house, 
Pen  in  an  anguish  of  remorse  rushed  away,  pawned  his 
grand  watch  and  every  single  article  of  jewellery  except 
two  old  gold  sleeve-buttons,  which  had  belonged  to  his 
father,  and  rushed  with  the  proceeds  to  Frodsham's  shop, 
where,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  and  the  deepest  repentance 
and  humility,  he  asked  the  poor  tradesman's  pardon. 

This,  young  gentleman,  is  not  told  as  an  instance  of 
Pen's  virtue,  but  rather  of  his  weakness.  It  would  have 
been  much  more  virtuous  to  have  had  no  prints  at  all. 
He  still  owed  for  the  baubles  which  he  sold  in  order  to 
pay  Frodsham's  bill,  and  his  mother  had  cruelly  to  pinch 
herself  in  order  to  discharge  the  jeweller's  account,  so 
that  she  was  in  the  end  the  sufferer  by  the  lad's  imperti- 
nent fancies  and  follies.  We  are  not  presenting  Pen 
to  you  as  a  hero  or  a  model,  only  as  a  lad,  who,  in  the 
midst  of  a  thousand  vanities  and  weaknesses,  has  as  yet 
some  generous  impulses,  and  is  not  altogether  dishonest. 

We  have  said  it  was  to  the  scandal  of  Mr.  Buck  the 
tutor  that  Pen's  extravagances  became  known :  from  the 
manner  in  which  he  entered  college,  the  associates  he 
kept,  and  the  introductions  of  Doctor  Portman  and  the 
Major,  Buck  for  a  long  time  thought  that  his  pupil  was 
a  man  of  large  property,  and  wondered  rather  that  he 
only  wore  a  plain  gown.  Once  on  going  up  to  London 


296  PENDENNIS 

to  the  levee  with  an  address  from  His  Majesty's  Loyal 
University  of  Oxbridge,  Buck  had  seen  Major  Penden- 
nis  at  St.  James's  in  conversation  with  two  knights  of 
the  garter,  in  the  carriage  of  one  of  whom  the  dazzled 
tutor  saw  the  Major  whisked  away  after  the  levee.  He 
asked  Pen  to  wine  the  instant  he  came  back,  let  him  off 
from  chapels  and  lectures  more  than  ever,  and  felt  per- 
fectly sure  that  he  was  a  young  gentleman  of  large 
estate. 

Thus,  he  was  thunderstruck  when  he  heard  the  truth, 
and  received  a  dismal  confession  from  Pen.  His  uni- 
versity debts  were  large,  and  the  tutor  had  nothing  to  do, 
and  of  course  Pen  did  not  acquaint  him,  with  his  London 
debts.  What  man  ever  does  tell  all  when  pressed  by  his 
friends  about  his  liabilities?  The  tutor  learned  enough 
to  know  that  Pen  was  poor,  that  he  had  spent  a  hand- 
some, almost  a  magnificent  allowance,  and  had  raised 
around  him  such  a  fine  crop  of  debts,  as  it  would  be  very 
hard  work  for  any  man  to  mow  down;  for  there  is  no 
plant  that  grows  so  rapidly  when  once  it  has  taken  root. 

Perhaps  it  was  because  she  was  so  tender  and  good 
that  Pen  was  terrified  lest  his  mother  should  know  of 
his  sins.  "  I  can't  bear  to  break  it  to  her,"  he  said  to  the 
tutor  in  an  agony  of  grief,  "  Ol  sir,  I've  been  a  villain 
to  her  "  —and  he  repented,  and  he  wished  he  had  the  time 
to  come  over  again,  and  he  asked  himself,  "  Why,  why 
did  his  uncle  insist  upon  the  necessity  of  living  with 
great  people,  and  in  how  much  did  all  his  grand  acquain- 
tance profit  him  ? " 

They  were  not  shy,  but  Pen  thought  they  were,  and 
slunk  from  them  during  his  last  terms  at  college.  He 
was  as  gloomy  as  a  death's-head  at  parties,  which  he 
avoided  of  his  own  part,  or  to  which  his  young  friends 


Pen's  Staircase.    2 


A  few  little  Bills 


PENDENNIS  297 

soon  ceased  to  invite  him.  Everybody  knew  that  Pen- 
dennis  was  "  hard  up."  That  man  Bloundell,  who  could 
pay  nobody,  and  who  was  obliged  to  go  down  after  three 
terms,  was  his  ruin,  the  men  said.  His  melancholy  figure 
might  be  seen  shirking  about  the  lonely  quadrangles  in 
his  battered  old  cap  and  torn  gown,  and  he  who  had  been 
the  pride  of  the  university  but  a  year  before,  the  man 
whom  all  the  young  ones  loved  to  look  at,  was  now  the 
object  of  conversation  at  freshmen's  wine  parties,  and 
they  spoke  of  him  with  wonder  and  awe. 

At  last  came  the  Degree  Examinations.  Many  a 
young  man  of  his  year  whose  hob-nailed  shoes  Pen  had 
derided,  and  whose  face  or  coat  he  had  caricatured — 
many  a  man  whom  he  had  treated  with  scorn  in  the  lec- 
ture-room or  crushed  with  his  eloquence  in  the  debating- 
club— many  of  his  own  set  who  had  not  half  his  brains, 
but  a  little  regularity  and  constancy  of  occupation,  took 
high  places  in  the  honours  or  passed  with  decent  credit. 
And  where  in  the  list  was  Pen  the  superb,  Pen  the  wit 
and  dandy,  Pen  the  poet  and  orator?  Ah,  where  was 
Pen  the  widow's  darling  and  sole  pride?  Let  us  hide 
our  heads,  and  shut  up  the  page.  The  lists  came  out; 
and  a  dreadful  rumour  rushed  through  the  university, 
that  Pendennis  of  Boniface  was  plucked. 


CHAPTER  XX 


FLIGHT  AFTER  DEFEAT 


TOURING  the  latter 
*-^  part  of  Pen's  resi- 
dence at  the  Univer- 
sity of  Oxbridge,  his 
uncle's  partiality  had 
greatly  increased  for 
the  lad.  The  Major 
was  proud  of  Ar- 
thur, who  had  high 
spirits,  frank  man- 
ners, a  good  person, 
and  high  gentleman- 
like bearing.  It  pleased  the  old  London  bachelor  to  see 
Pen  walking  with  the  young  patricians  of  his  university, 
and  he  (who  was  never  known  to  entertain  his  friends, 
and  whose  stinginess  had  passed  into  a  sort  of  byword 
among  some  wags  at  the  Club,  who  envied  his  many 
engagements,  and  did  not  choose  to  consider  his  pov- 
erty) was  charmed  to  give  his  nephew  and  the  young 
lords  snug  little  dinners  at  his  lodgings,  and  to  regale 
them  with  good  claret,  and  his  very  best  bons  mots  and 
stories:  some  of  which  would  be  injured  by  the  repeti- 
tion, for  the  Major's  manner  of  telling  them  was  incom- 
parably neat  and  careful ;  and  others,  whereof  the  repe- 
tition would  do  good  to  nobody.  He  paid  his  court 

999 


PENDENNIS  299 

to  their  parents  through  the  young  men,  and  to  himself 
as  it  were  by  their  company.  He  made  more  than  one 
visit  to  Oxbridge,  where  the  young  fellows  were  amused 
by  entertaining  the  old  gentleman,  and  gave  parties  and 
breakfasts,  and  fetes,  partly  to  joke  him  and  partly  to 
do  him  honour.  He  plied  them  with  his  stories.  He 
made  himself  juvenile  and  hilarious  in  the  company  of 
the  young  lords.  He  went  to  hear  Pen  at  a  grand  debate 
at  the  Union,  crowed  and  cheered,  and  rapped  his  stick 
in  chorus  with  the  cheers  of  the  men,  and  was  astounded 
at  the  boy's  eloquence  and  fire.  He  thought  he  had  got 
a  young  Pitt  for  a  nephew.  He  had  an  almost  paternal 
fondness  for  Pen.  He  wrote  to  the  lad  letters  with  play- 
ful advice  and  the  news  of  the  town.  He  bragged  about 
Arthur  at  his  Clubs,  and  introduced  him  with  pleasure 
into  his  conversation;  saying,  that,  Egad,  the  young 
fellows  were  putting  the  old  ones  to  the  wall;  that  the 
lads  who  were  coming  up,  young  Lord  Plinlimmon,  a 
friend  of  my  boy,  young  Lord  Magnus  Charters,  a  chum 
of  my  scapegrace,  &c.,  would  make  a  greater  figure  in 
the  world  than  ever  their  fathers  had  done  before  them. 
He  asked  permission  to  bring  Arthur  to  a  grand  fete 
at  Gaunt  House;  saw  him  with  ineffable  satisfaction 
dancing  with  the  sisters  of  the  young  noblemen  before 
mentioned;  and  gave  himself  as  much  trouble  to  pro- 
cure cards  of  invitation  for  the  lad  to  some  good  houses, 
as  if  he  had  been  a  mamma  with  a  daughter  to  marry, 
and  not  an  old  half -pay  officer  in  a  wig.  And  he  boasted 
everywhere  of  the  boy's  great  talents,  and  remarkable 
oratorical  powers;  and  of  the  brilliant  degree  he  was 
going  to  take.  Lord  Runnymede  would  take  him  on 
his  embassy,  or  the  Duke  would  bring  him  in  for  one  of 
his  boroughs,  he  wrote  over  and  over  again  to  Helen; 


300  PENDENNIS 

who,  for  her  part,  was  too  ready  to  believe  anything  that 
anybody  chose  to  say  in  favour  of  her  son. 

And  all  this  pride  and  affection  of  uncle  and  mother 
had  been  trampled  down  by  Pen's  wicked  extravagance 
and  idleness !  I  don't  envy  Pen's  feelings  ( as  the  phrase 
is),  as  he  thought  of  what  he  had  done.  He  had  slept, 
and  the  tortoise  had  won  the  race.  He  had  marred  at 
its  outset  what  might  have  been  a  brilliant  career.  He 
had  dipped  ungenerously  into  a  generous  mother's 
purse;  basely  and  recklessly  spilt  her  little  cruse.  O! 
it  was  a  coward  hand  that  could  strike  and  rob  a  creature 
so  tender.  And  if  Pen  felt  the  wrong  which  he  had  done 
to  others,  are  we  to  suppose  that  a  young  gentleman  of 
his  vanity  did  not  feel  still  more  keenly  the  shame  he  had 
brought  upon  himself?  Let  us  be  assured  that  there  is 
no  more  cruel  remorse  than  that;  and  no  groans  more 
piteous  than  those  of  wounded  self-love.  Like  Joe 
Miller's  friend,  the  Senior  Wrangler,  who  bowed  to  the 
audience  from  his  box  at  the  play,  because  he  and  the 
king  happened  to  enter  the  theatre  at  the  same  time,  only 
with  a  fatuity  by  no  means  so  agreeable  to  himself,  poor 
Arthur  Pendennis  felt  perfectly  convinced  that  all  Eng- 
land would  remark  the  absence  of  his  name  from  the 
examination-lists,  and  talk  about  his  misfortune.  His 
wounded  tutor,  his  many  duns,  the  skip  and  bed-maker 
who  waited  upon  him,  the  undergraduates  of  his  own 
time  and  the  years  below  him,  whom  he  had  patronised 
or  scorned— how  could  he  bear  to  look  any  of  them  in 
the  face  now?  He  rushed  to  his  rooms,  into  which  he 
shut  himself,  and  there  he  penned  a  letter  to  his  tutor, 
full  of  thanks,  regards,  remorse,  and  despair,  request- 
ing that  his  name  might  be  taken  off  the  college  books, 
and  intimating  a  wish  and  expectation  that  death  would 


PENDENNIS  301 

speedily  end  the  woes  of  the  disgraced  Arthur  Pen- 
dennis. 

Then  he  slunk  out,  scarcely  knowing  whither  he  went, 
but  mechanically  taking  the  unfrequented  little  lanes  by 
the  backs  of  the  colleges,  until  he  cleared  the  university 
precincts,  and  got  down  to  the  banks  of  the  Camisis  river, 
now  deserted,  but  so  often  alive  with  the  boat-races,  and 
the  crowds  of  cheering  gownsmen,  he  wandered  on  and 
on,  until  he  found  himself  at  some  miles'  distance  from 
Oxbridge,  or  rather  was  found  by  some  acquaintance, 
leaving  that  city. 

As  Pen  went  up  a  hill,  a  drizzling  January  rain  beat- 
ing in  his  face,  and  his  ragged  gown  flying  behind  him 
— for  he  had  not  divested  himself  of  his  academical  gar- 
ments since  the  morning — a  postchaise  came  rattling  up 
the  road,  on  the  box  of  which  a  servant  was  seated,  whilst 
within,  or  rather  half  out  of  the  carriage  window,  sate 
a  young  gentleman  smoking  a  cigar,  and  loudly  encour- 
aging the  postboy.  It  was  our  young  acquaintance  of 
Baymouth,  Mr.  Spavin,  who  had  got  his  degree,  and 
was  driving  homewards  in  triumph  in  his  yellow  post- 
chaise.  He  caught  a  sight  of  the  figure,  madly  gesticu- 
lating as  he  worked  up  the  hill,  and  of  poor  Pen's  pale 
and  ghastly  face  as  the  chaise  whirled  by  him. 

'  Wo! "  roared  Mr.  Spavin  to  the  postboy,  and  the 
horses  stopped  in  their  mad  career,  and  the  carriage 
pulled  up  some  fifty  yards  before  Pen.  He  presently 
heard  his  own  name  shouted,  and  beheld  the  upper  half 
of  the  body  of  Mr.  Spavin  thrust  out  of  the  side-window 
of  the  vehicle,  and  beckoning  Pen  vehemently  towards  it. 

Pen  stopped,  hesitated — nodded  his  head  fiercely,  and 
pointed  onwards,  as  if  desirous  that  the  postilion  should 
proceed.  He  did  not  speak:  but  his  countenance  must 


302  PENDENNIS 

have  looked  very  desperate,  for  young  Spavin,  having 
stared  at  him  with  an  expression  of  blank  alarm,  jumped 
out  of  the  carriage  presently,  ran  towards  Pen  holding 
out  his  hand,  and  grasping  Pen's  said,  "  I  say — hullo,  old 
boy,  where  are  you  going,  and  what's  the  row  now?  " 

'  I'm  going  where  I  deserve  to  go,"  said  Pen  with  an 
imprecation. 

'  This  ain't  the  way,"  said  Mr.  Spavin,  smiling. 
'  This  is  the  Fenbury  road.  I  say,  Pen,  don't  take  on 
because  you  are  plucked.  It's  nothing  when  you  are 
used  to  it.  I've  been  plucked  three  times,  old  boy — and 
after  the  first  time  I  didn't  care.  Glad  it's  over,  though. 
You'll  have  better  luck  next  time." 

Pen  looked  at  his  early  acquaintance, — who  had  been 
plucked,  who  had  been  rusticated,  who  had  only,  after 
repeated  failures,  learned  to  read  and  write  correctly, 
and  who,  in  spite  of  all  these  drawbacks,  had  attained 
the  honour  of  a  degree.  '  This  man  has  passed,"  he 
thought,  "  and  I  have  failed!  "  It  was  almost  too  much 
for  him  to  bear. 

"  Good  bye,  Spavin,"  said  he;   "I'm  very  glad  you 
are  through.    Don't  let  me  keep  you;  I'm  in  a  hurry— 
I'm  going  to  town  to-night." 

"  Gammon,"  said  Mr.  Spavin.  '  This  ain't  the  way 
to  town;  this  is  the  Fenbury  road,  I  tell  you." 

"  I  was  just  going  to  turn  back,"  Pen  said. 

"  All  the  coaches  are  full  with  the  men  going  down," 
Spavin  said.  Pen  winced.  '  You'd  not  get  a  place  for 
a  ten-pound  note.  Get  into  my  yellow ;  I'll  drop  you  at 
Mudford,  where  you  have  a  chance  of  the  Fenbury  mail. 
I'll  lend  you  a  hat  and  a  coat,  I've  got  lots.  Come  along ; 
jump  in,  old  boy— go  it,  leathers!  "—and  in  this  way 
Pen  found  himself  in  Mr.  Spavin's  postchaise,  and  rode 


PENDENNIS 


303 


with  that  gentleman  as  far  as  the  Ram  Inn  at  Mudford, 
fifteen  miles  from  Oxbridge;   where  the  Fenbury  mail 


changed  horses,   and  where   Pen  got  a   place  on   to 
London. 

The  next  day  there  was  an  immense  excitement  in 
Boniface  College,  Oxbridge,  where,  for  some  time,  a 
rumour  prevailed,  to  the  terror  of  Pen's  tutor  and  trades- 
men, that  Pendennis,  maddened  at  losing  his  degree,  had 
made  away  with  himself —a  battered  cap,  in  which  his 


304  PENDENNIS 

name  was  almost  discernible,  together  with  a  seal  bear- 
ing his  crest  of  an  eagle  looking  at  a  now  extinct  sun, 
had  been  found  three  miles  on  the  Fenbury  road,  near 
a  mill  stream;  and,  for  four-and-twenty  hours,  it  was 
supposed  that  poor  Pen  had  flung  himself  into  the 
stream,  until  letters  arrived  from  him,  bearing  the  Lon- 
don post-mark. 

The  mail  reached  London  at  the  dreary  hour  of  five; 
and  he  hastened  to  the  inn  at  Covent  Garden,  at  which 
he  was  accustomed  to  put  up,  where  the  ever-wakeful 
porter  admitted  him,  and  showed  him  to  a  bed.  Pen 
looked  hard  at  the  man,  and  wondered  whether  Boots 
knew  he  was  plucked?  When  in  bed  he  could  not  sleep 
there.  He  tossed  about  until  the  appearance  of  the  dis- 
mal London  daylight,  when  he  sprang  up  desperately, 
and  walked  off  to  his  uncle's  lodgings  in  Bury  Street; 
where  the  maid,  who  was  scouring  the  steps,  looked  up 
suspiciously  at  him,  as  he  came  with  an  unshaven  face, 
and  yesterday's  linen.  He  thought  she  knew  of  his  mis- 
hap, too. 

"  Good  'evens!  Mr.  Harthur,  what  'as  'appened,  sir?  " 
Mr.  Morgan,  the  valet,  asked,  who  had  just  arranged  the 
well-brushed  clothes  and  shiny  boots  at  the  door  of  his 
master's  bed-room,  and  was  carrying  in  his  wig  to  the 
Major. 

"  I  want  to  see  my  uncle,"  he  cried,  in  a  ghastly  voice, 
and  flung  himself  down  on  a  chair. 

Morgan  backed  before  the  pale  and  desperate-looking 
young  man,  with  terrified  and  wondering  glances,  and 
disappeared  into  his  master's  apartment. 

The  Major  put  his  head  out  of  the  bed-room  door,  as 
soon  as  he  had  his  wig  on. 

'  What?  examination  over?  Senior  Wrangler,  double 


PENDENNIS  305 

First  Class,  hay? "  said  the  old  gentleman—"  I'll  come 
directly;  "  and  the  head  disappeared. 

"  They  don't  know  what  has  happened,"  groaned  Pen ; 
"  what  will  they  say  when  they  know  all?  " 

Pen  had  been  standing  with  his  back  to  the  window, 
and  to  such  a  dubious  light  as  Bury  Street  enjoys  of  a 
foggy  January  morning,  so  that  his  uncle  could  not  see 
the  expression  of  the  young  man's  countenance,  or  the 
looks  of  gloom  and  despair  which  even  Mr.  Morgan  had 
remarked. 

But  when  the  Major  came  out  of  his  dressing-room 
neat  and  radiant,  and  preceded  by  faint  odours  from 
Delcroix's  shop,  from  which  emporium  Major  Penden- 
nis's  wig  and  his  pocket-handkerchief  got  their  perfume, 
he  held  out  one  of  his  hands  to  Pen,  and  was  about 
addressing  him  in  his  cheery  high-toned  voice,  when 
he  caught  sight  of  the  boy's  face  at  length,  and  drop- 
ping his  hand,  said,  "Good  God!  Pen,  what's  the 
matter? " 

"  You'll  see  it  in  the  papers  at  breakfast,  sir,"  Pen 
said. 

"  See  what? " 

"  My  name  isn't  there,  sir." 

"  Hang  it,  why  should  it  be?  "  asked  the  Major,  more 
perplexed. 

"  I  have  lost  everything,  sir,"  Pen  groaned  out;  "  my 
honour's  gone ;  I'm  ruined  irretrievably ;  I  can't  go  back 
to  Oxbridge." 

"  Lost  your  honour? "  screamed  out  the  Major. 
"  Heaven  alive!  you  don't  mean  to  say  you  have  shown 
the  white  feather?" 

Pen  laughed  bitterly  at  the  word  feather,  and  repeated 
it.  "  No,  it  isn't  that,  sir.  I'm  not  afraid  of  being  shot; 


306  PENDENNIS 

I  wish  to  God  anybody  would  shoot  me.  I  have  not  got 
my  degree.  I— I'm  plucked,  sir." 

The  Major  had  heard  of  plucking,  but  in  a  very  vague 
and  cursory  way,  and  concluded  that  it  was  some  cere- 
mony performed  corporally  upon  rebellious  university 
youth.  "  I  wonder  you  can  look  me  in  the  face  after 
such  a  disgrace,  sir,"  he  said;  "  I  wonder  you  submitted 
to  it  as  a  gentleman." 

"  I  couldn't  help  it,  sir.  I  did  my  classical  papers  well 
enough :  it  was  those  infernal  mathematics,  which  I  have 
always  neglected." 

"  Was  it — was  it  done  in  public,  sir?  "  the  Major  said. 

"What?" 

"  The— the  plucking? "  asked  the  guardian,  looking 
Pen  anxiously  in  the  face. 

Pen  perceived  the  error  under  which  his  guardian  was 
labouring,  and  in  the  midst  of  his  misery  the  blunder 
caused  the  poor  wretch  a  faint  smile,  and  served  to  bring 
down  the  conversation  from  the  tragedy-key,  in  which 
Pen  had  been  disposed  to  carry  it  on.  He  explained  to 
his  uncle  that  he  had  gone  in  to  pass  his  examination, 
and  failed.  On  which  the  Major  said,  that  though  he 
had  expected  far  better  things  of  his  nephew,  there  was 
no  great  misfortune  in  this,  and  no  dishonour  as  far  as 
he  saw,  and  that  Pen  must  try  again. 

"  Me  again  at  Oxbridge,"  Pen  thought,  "  after  such 
a  humiliation  as  that!"  He  felt  that,  except  he  went 
down  to  burn  the  place,  he  could  not  enter  it. 

But  it  was  when  he  came  to  tell  his  uncle  of  his  debts 
that  the  other  felt  surprise  and  anger  most  keenly,  and 
broke  out  into  speeches  most  severe  upon  Pen,  which 
the  lad  bore,  as  best  he  might,  without  flinching.  He 
had  determined  to  make  a  clean  breast,  and  had  formed 


PENDENNIS  307 

a  full,  true,  and  complete  list  of  all  his  bills  and  lia- 
bilities at  the  university,  and  in  London.  They  con- 
sisted of  various  items,  such  as 

London  Tailor.  Oxbridge  do. 

Oxbridge  do.  Bill  for  horses. 

Haberdasher,  for  shirts  and  gloves.     Printseller. 

Jeweller.  Books. 

College  Cook.  Binding. 

Crump,  for  desserts.  Hairdresser  and  Perfumery. 

Bootmaker.  Hotel  Bill  in  London. 

Wine  Merchant  in  London.  Sundries. 

All  which  items  the  reader  may  fill  in  at  his  pleasure 
— such  accounts  have  been  inspected  by  the  parents  of 
many  university  youth, — and  it  appeared  that  Mr.  Pen's 
bills  in  all  amounted  to  about  seven  hundred  pounds; 
and,  furthermore,  it  was  calculated  that  he  had  had  more 
than  twice  that  sum  of  ready  money  during  his  stay  at 
Oxbridge.  This  sum  he  had  spent,  and  for  it  had  to 
show — what? 

'  You  need  not  press  a  man  who  is  down,  sir,"  Pen 
said  to  his  uncle,  gloomily.  "  I  know  very  well,  how 
wicked  and  idle  I  have  been.  My  mother  won't  like  to 
see  me  dishonoured,  sir,"  he  continued,  with  his  voice 
failing;  "  and  I  know  she  will  pay  these  accounts.  But 
I  shall  ask  her  for  no  more  money." 

"  As  you  like,  sir,"  the  Major  said.  "  You  are  of  age, 
and  my  hands  are  washed  of  your  affairs.  But  you  can't 
live  without  money,  and  have  no  means  of  making  it 
that  I  see,  though  you  have  a  fine  talent  in  spending  it, 
and  it  is  my  belief  that  you  will  proceed  as  you  have  be- 
gun, and  ruin  your  mother  before  you  are  five  years 
older.— Good  morning;  it  is  time  for  me  to  go  to  break- 


308  PENDENNIS 

fast.  My  engagements  won't  permit  me  to  see  you  much 
during  the  time  that  you  stay  in  London.  I  presume 
that  you  will  acquaint  your  mother  with  the  news  which 
you  have  just  conveyed  to  me." 

And  pulling  on  his  hat,  and  trembling  in  his  limbs 
somewhat,  Major  Pendennis  walked  out  of  his  lodgings 
before  his  nephew,  and  went  ruefully  off  to  take  his 
accustomed  corner  at  the  Club.  He  saw  the  Oxbridge 
examination-lists  in  the  morning  papers,  and  read  over 
the  names,  not  understanding  the  business,  with  mourn- 
ful accuracy.  He  consulted  various  old  fogies  of  his 
acquaintance,  in  the  course  of  the  day,  at  his  Clubs; 
Wenham,  a  Dean,  various  Civilians ;  and,  as  it  is  called, 
"  took  their  opinion,"  showing  to  some  of  them  the 
amount  of  his  nephew's  debts,  which  he  had  dotted  down 
on  the  back  of  a  card,  and  asking  what  was  to  be  done, 
and  whether  such  debts  were  not  monstrous,  preposter- 
ous? What  was  to  be  done? — There  was  nothing  for  it 
but  to  pay.  Wenham  and  the  others  told  the  Major  of 
young  men  who  owed  twice  as  much— five  times  as  much 
—as  Arthur,  and  with  no  means  at  all  to  pay.  The  con- 
sultations, and  calculations,  and  opinions,  comforted  the 
Major  somewhat.  After  all,  he  was  not  to  pay. 

But  he  thought  bitterly  of  the  many  plans  he  had 
formed  to  make  a  man  of  his  nephew,  of  the  sacrifices 
which  he  had  made,  and  of  the  manner  in  which  he  was 
disappointed.  And  he  wrote  off  a  letter  to  Doctor  Port- 
man,  informing  him  of  the  direful  events  which  had 
taken  place,  and  begging  the  Doctor  to  break  them  to 
Helen.  For  the  orthodox  old  gentleman  preserved  the 
regular  routine  in  all  things,  and  was  of  opinion  that  it 
was  more  correct  to  "  break  "  a  piece  of  bad  news  to  a 
person  by  means  of  a  (possibly  maladroit  and  unfeeling) 


PENDENNIS  309 

messenger,  than  to  convey  it  simply  to  its  destination  by 
a  note.  So  the  Major  wrote  to  Doctor  Portman,  and 
then  went  out  to  dinner,  one  of  the  saddest  men  in  any 
London  dining-room  that  day. 

Pen,  too,  wrote  his  letter,  and  skulked  about  London 
streets  for  the  rest  of  the  day,  fancying  that  everybody 
was  looking  at  him  and  whispering  to  his  neighbour, 
'  That  is  Pendennis  of  Boniface,  who  was  plucked  yes- 
terday." His  letter  to  his  mother  was  full  of  tender- 
ness and  remorse:  he  wept  the  bitterest  tears  over  it — 
and  the  repentance  and  passion  soothed  him  to  some 
degree. 

He  saw  a  party  of  roaring  young  blades  from  Ox- 
bridge in  the  coffee-room  of  his  hotel,  and  slunk  away 
from  them,  and  paced  the  streets.  He  remembers,  he 
says,  the  prints  which  he  saw  hanging  up  at  Ackermann's 
window  in  the  rain,  and  a  book  which  he  read  at  a  stall 
near  the  Temple :  at  night  he  went  to  the  pit  of  the  play, 
and  saw  Miss  Fotheringay,  but  he  doesn't  in  the  least 
recollect  in  what  piece. 

On  the  second  day  there  came  a  kind  letter  from  his 
tutor,  containing  many  grave  and  appropriate  remarks 
upon  the  event  which  had  befallen  him,  but  strongly  urg- 
ing Pen  not  to  take  his  name  off  the  university  books, 
and  to  retrieve  a  disaster,  which,  everybody  knew,  was 
owing  to  his  own  carelessness  alone,  and  which  he  might 
repair  by  a  month's  application.  He  said  he  had  or- 
dered Pen's  skip  to  pack  up  some  trunks  of  the  young 
gentleman's  wardrobe,  which  duly  arrived  with  fresh 
copies  of  all  Pen's  bills  laid  on  the  top. 

On  the  third  day  there  arrived  a  letter  from  Home; 
which  Pen  read  in  his  bedroom,  and  the  result  of  which 


310  PENDENNIS 

was  that  he  fell  down  on  his  knees,  with  his  head  in  the 
bed-clothes,  and  there  prayed  out  his  heart,  and  humbled 
himself;  and  having  gone  down  stairs  and  eaten  an  im- 
mense breakfast,  he  sallied  forth  and  took  his  place  at 
the  Bull  and  Mouth,  Piccadilly,  by  the  Chatteris  coach 
for  that  evening. 


CHAPTER  XXI 


PRODIGALS   RETURN 

UCH  a  letter  as  the  Major 
wrote,  of  course  sent 
Doctor  Portman  to  Fair- 
oaks,  and  he  went  off  with 
that  alacrity  which  a 
good  man  shows  when  he 
has  disagreeable  news  to 
communicate.  He  wishes 
the  deed  were  done,  and 
done  quickly.  He  is 
sorry,  but  que  voulez- 
vous?  the  tooth  must  be 
taken  out,  and  he  has  you 
into  the  chair,  and  it  is 
surprising  with  what  courage  and  vigour  of  wrist  he  ap- 
plies the  forceps.  Perhaps  he  would  not  be  quite  so 
active  or  eager  if  it  were  his  tooth ;  but,  in  fine,  it  is  your 
duty  to  have  it  out.  So  the  Doctor,  having  read  the  epis- 
tle out  to  Mira  and  Mrs.  Portman,  with  many  damna- 
tory comments  upon  the  young  scapegrace  who  was  go- 
ing deeper  and  deeper  into  perdition,  left  those  ladies 
to  spread  the  news  through  the  Clavering  society,  which 
they  did  with  their  accustomed  accuracy  and  despatch, 
and  strode  over  to  Fairoaks  to  break  the  intelligence  to 
the  widow. 

She  had  the  news  already.    She  had  read  Pen's  letter, 

311 


312  PENDENNIS 

and  it  had  relieved  her  somehow.  A  gloomy  presentiment 
of  evil  had  been  hanging  over  her  for  many,  many 
months  past.  She  knew  the  worst  now,  and  her  darling 
boy  was  come  back  to  her  repentant  and  tender-hearted. 
Did  she  want  more?  All  that  the  Rector  could  say  (and 
his  remarks  were  both  dictated  by  common  sense,  and 
made  respectable  by  antiquity)  could  not  bring  Helen 
to  feel  any  indignation  or  particular  unhappiness,  ex- 
cept that  the  boy  should  be  unhappy.  What  was  this 
degree  that  they  made  such  an  outcry  about,  and  what 
good  would  it  do  Pen?  Why  did  Doctor  Portman  and 
his  uncle  insist  upon  sending  the  boy  to  a  place  where 
there  was  so  much  temptation  to  be  risked,  and  so  little 
good  to  be  won?  Why  didn't  they  leave  him  at  home 
with  his  mother?  As  for  his  debts,  of  course  they  must 
be  paid;— his  debts! — wasn't  his  father's  money  all  his, 
and  hadn't  he  a  right  to  spend  it?  In  this  way  the 
widow  met  the  virtuous  Doctor,  and  all  the  arrows  of 
his  indignation  somehow  took  no  effect  upon  her  gen- 
tle bosom. 

For  some  time  past,  an  agreeable  practice,  known 
since  times  ever  so  ancient,  by  which  brothers  and  sisters 
are  wont  to  exhibit  their  affection  towards  one  another, 
and  in  which  Pen  and  his  little  sister  Laura  had  been 
accustomed  to  indulge  pretty  frequently  in  their  child- 
ish days,  had  been  given  up  by  the  mutual  consent  of 
those  two  individuals.  Coming  back  from  college  after 
an  absence  from  home  of  some  months,  in  place  of  the 
simple  girl  whom  he  had  left  behind  him,  Mr.  Arthur 
found  a  tall,  slim,  handsome  young  lady,  to  whom  he 
could  not  somehow  proffer  the  kiss  which  he  had  been 
in  the  habit  of  administering  previously,  and  who  re- 
ceived him  with  a  gracious  curtsey  and  a  proffered  hand, 


PENDENNIS  313 

and  with  a  great  blush  which  rose  up  to  the  cheek,  just 
upon  the  very  spot  which  young  Pen  had  been  used  to 
salute. 

I  am  not  good  at  descriptions  of  female  beauty ;  and, 
indeed,  do  not  care  for  it  in  the  least  (thinking  that 
goodness  and  virtue  are,  of  course,  far  more  advanta- 
geous to  a  young  lady  than  any  mere  fleeting  charms  of 
person  and  face) ,  and  so  shall  not  attempt  any  particular 
delineation  of  Miss  Laura  Bell  at  the  age  of  sixteen 
years.  At  that  age  she  had  attained  her  present  altitude 
of  five  feet  four  inches,  so  that  she  was  called  tall  and 
gawky  by  some,  and  a  Maypole  by  others,  of  her  own 
sex,  who  prefer  littler  women.  But  if  she  was  a  May- 
pole, she  had  beautiful  roses  about  her  head,  and  it  is 
a  fact  that  many  swains  were  disposed  to  dance  round 
her.  She  was  ordinarily  pale,  with  a  faint  rose  tinge  in 
her  cheeks ;  but  they  flushed  up  in  a  minute  when  occa- 
sion called,  and  continued  so  blushing  ever  so  long,  the 
roses  remaining  after  the  emotion  had  passed  away  which 
had  summoned  those  pretty  flowers  into  existence.  Her 
eyes  have  been  described  as  very  large  from  her  earliest 
childhood,  and  retained  that  characteristic  in  later  life. 
Good-natured  critics  (always  females)  said  that  she  was 
in  the  habit  of  making  play  with  those  eyes,  and  ogling 
the  gentlemen  and  ladies  in  her  company;  but  the  fact 
is,  that  Nature  had  made  them  so  to  shine  and  to  look, 
and  they  could  no  more  help  so  looking  and  shining  than 
one  star  can  help  being  brighter  than  another.  It  was 
doubtless  to  mitigate  their  brightness  that  Miss  Laura's 
eyes  were  provided  with  two  pairs  of  veils  in  the  shape 
of  the  longest  and  finest  black  eyelashes,  so  that,  when 
she  closed  her  eyes,  the  same  people  who  found  fault 
with  those  orbs,  said  that  she  wanted  to  show  her  eye- 


314  PENDENNIS 

lashes  off;  and,  indeed,  I  dare  say  that  to  see  her  asleep 
would  have  been  a  pretty  sight. 

As  for  her  complexion,  that  was  nearly  as  brilliant  as 
Lady  Mantrap's,  and  without  the  powder  which  her 
ladyship  uses.  Her  nose  must  be  left  to  the  reader's 
imagination:  if  her  mouth  was  rather  large  (as  Miss 
Piminy  avers,  who,  but  for  her  known  appetite,  one 
would  think  could  not  swallow  anything  larger  than  a 
button) ,  everybody  allowed  that  her  smile  was  charming, 
and  showed  off  a  set  of  pearly  teeth,  whilst  her  voice 
was  so  low  and  sweet,  that  to  hear  it  was  like  listening 
to  sweet  music.  Because  she  is  in  the  habit  of  wearing 
very  long  dresses,  people  of  course  say  that  her  feet  are 
not  small :  but  it  may  be,  that  they  are  of  the  size  becom- 
ing her  figure,  and  it  does  not  follow,  because  Mrs. 
Pincher  is  always  putting  her  foot  out,  that  all  other 
ladies  should  be  perpetually  bringing  theirs  on  the  tapis. 
In  fine,  Miss  Laura  Bell,  at  the  age  of  sixteen,  was  a 
sweet  young  lady.  Many  thousands  of  such  are  to  be 
found,  let  us  hope,  in  this  country,  where  there  is  no 
lack  of  goodness,  and  modesty,  and  purity,  and  beauty. 

Now,  Miss  Laura,  since  she  had  learned  to  think  for 
herself  ( and  in  the  past  two  years  her  mind  and  her  per- 
son had  both  developed  themselves  considerably),  had 
only  been  half  pleased  with  Pen's  general  conduct  and 
bearing.  His  letters  to  his  mother  at  home  had  become 
of  late  very  rare  and  short.  It  was  in  vain  that  the  fond 
widow  urged  how  constant  Arthur's  occupations  and 
studies  were,  and  how  many  his  engagements.  "  It  is 
better  that  he  should  lose  a  prize,"  Laura  said,  "  than  for- 
get his  mother:  and  indeed,  mamma,  I  don't  see  that  he 
gets  many  prizes.  Why  doesn't  he  come  home  and  stay 
with  you,  instead  of  passing  his  vacations  at  his  great 


PENDENNIS  315 

friends'  fine  houses?  There  is  nobody  there  will  love 
him  half  as  much  as— as  you  do."  "  As  I  do  only, 
Laura,"  sighed  out  Mrs.  Pendennis.  Laura  declared 
stoutly  that  she  did  not  love  Pen  a  bit,  when  he  did  not 
do  his  duty  to  his  mother:  nor  would  she  be  convinced 
by  any  of  Helen's  fond  arguments,  that  the  boy  must 
make  his  way  in  the  world ;  that  his  uncle  was  most  de- 
sirous that  Pen  should  cultivate  the  acquaintance  of 
persons  who  were  likely  to  befriend  him  in  life ;  that  men 
had  a  thousand  ties  and  calls  which  women  could  not 
understand,  and  so  forth.  Perhaps  Helen  no  more  be- 
lieved in  these  excuses  than  her  adopted  daughter  did; 
but  she  tried  to  believe  that  she  believed  them,  and  com- 
forted herself  with  the  maternal  infatuation.  And  that 
is  a  point  whereon  I  suppose  many  a  gentleman  has 
reflected,  that,  do  what  we  will,  we  are  pretty  sure  of 
the  woman's  love  that  once  has  been  ours ;  and  that  that 
untiring  tenderness  and  forgiveness  never  fail  us. 

Also,  there  had  been  that  freedom,  not  to  say  audacity, 
in  Arthur's  latter  talk  and  ways,  which  had  shocked  and 
displeased  Laura.  Not  that  he  ever  offended  her  by 
rudeness,  or  addressed  to  her  a  word  which  she  ought  not 
to  hear,  for  Mr.  Pen  was  a  gentleman,  and  by  nature 
and  education  polite  to  every  woman  high  and  low;  but 
he  spoke  lightly  and  laxly  of  women  in  general;  was 
less  courteous  in  his  actions  than  in  his  words— neglect- 
ful in  sundry  ways,  and  in  many  of  the  little  offices  of 
life.  It  offended  Miss  Laura  that  he  should  smoke  his 
horrid  pipes  in  the  house;  that  he  should  refuse  to  go 
to  church  with  his  mother,  or  on  walks  or  visits  with  her, 
and  be  found  yawning  over  his  novel  in  his  dressing- 
gown,  when  the  gentle  widow  returned  from  those  duties. 
The  hero  of  Laura's  early  infancy,  about  whom  she  had 


316  PENDENNIS 

passed  so  many,  many  nights  talking  with  Helen  (who 
recited  endless  stories  of  the  boy's  virtues,  and  love,  and 
bravery,  when  he  was  away  at  school),  was  a  very  dif- 
ferent person  from  the  young  man  whom  now  she  knew ; 
bold  and  brilliant,  sarcastic  and  defiant,  seeming  to  scorn 
the  simple  occupations  or  pleasures,  or  even  devotions, 
of  the  women  with  whom  he  lived,  and  whom  he  quitted 
on  such  light  pretexts. 

The  Fotheringay  affair,  too,  when  Laura  came  to 
hear  of  it  ( which  she  did  first  by  some  sarcastic  allusions 
of  Major  Pendennis,  when  on  a  visit  to  Fairoaks,  and 
then  from  their  neighbours  at  Clavering,  who  had  plenty 
of  information  to  give  her  on  this  head),  vastly  shocked 
and  outraged  Miss  Laura.  A  Pendennis  fling  himself 
away  on  such  a  woman  as  that!  Helen's  boy  galloping 
away  from  home,  day  after  day,  to  fall  on  his  knees  to 
an  actress,  and  drink  with  her  horrid  father!  A  good 
son  want  to  bring  such  a  man  and  such  a  woman  into 
his  house,  and  set  her  over  his  mother!  "  I  would  have 
run  away,  mamma ;  I  would,  if  I  had  had  to  walk  bare- 
foot through  the  snow,"  Laura  said. 

"  And  you  would  have  left  me  too,  then?  "  Helen  an- 
swered; on  which,  of  course,  Laura  withdrew  her  pre- 
vious observation,  and  the  two  women  rushed  into  each 
other's  embraces  with  that  warmth  which  belonged  to 
both  their  natures,  and  which  characterises  not  a  few  of 
their  sex.  Whence  came  all  this  indignation  of  Miss 
Laura  about  Arthur's  passion?  Perhaps  she  did  not 
know,  that,  if  men  throw  themselves  away  upon  women, 
women  throw  themselves  away  upon  men,  too ;  and  that 
there  is  no  more  accounting  for  love,  than  for  any  other 
physical  liking  or  antipathy:  perhaps  she  had  been  mis- 
informed by  the  Clavering  people  and  old  Mrs.  Port- 


PENDENNIS  317 

man,  who  was  vastly  bitter  against  Pen,  especially  since 
his  impertinent  behaviour  to  the  Doctor,  and  since  the 
wretch  had  smoked  cigars  in  church-time:  perhaps, 
finally,  she  was  jealous;  but  this  is  a  vice  in  which  it 
is  said  the  ladies  very  seldom  indulge. 

Albeit  she  was  angry  with  Pen,  against  his  mother  she 
had  no  such  feeling;  but  devoted  herself  to  Helen  with 
the  utmost  force  of  her  girlish  affection — such  affection 
as  women,  whose  hearts  are  disengaged,  are  apt  to  be- 
stow upon  the  near  female  friend.  It  was  devotion — it 
was  passion — it  was  all  sorts  of  fondness  and  folly;  it 
was  a  profusion  of  caresses,  tender  epithets  and  endear- 
ments, such  as  it  does  not  become  sober  historians  with 
beards  to  narrate.  Do  not  let  us  men  despise  these  in- 
stincts because  we  cannot  feel  them.  These  women  were 
made  for  our  comfort  and  delectation,  gentlemen, — with 
all  the  rest  of  the  minor  animals. 

But  as  soon  as  Miss  Laura  heard  that  Pen  was  unfor- 
tunate and  unhappy,  all  her  wrath  against  him  straight- 
way vanished,  and  gave  place  to  the  most  tender  and 
unreasonable  compassion.  He  was  the  Pen  of  old  days 
once  more  restored  to  her,  the  frank  and  affectionate, 
the  generous  and  tender-hearted.  She  at  once  took  side 
with  Helen  against  Doctor  Portman,  when  he  outcried 
at  the  enormity  of  Pen's  transgressions.  Debts?  what 
were  his  debts?  they  were  a  trifle;  he  had  been  thrown 
into  expensive  society  by  his  uncle's  order,  and  of  course 
was  obliged  to  live  in  the  same  manner  as  the  young 
gentlemen  whose  company  he  frequented.  Disgraced 
by  not  getting  his  degree?  the  poor  boy  was  ill  when  he 
went  in  for  the  examinations:  he  couldn't  think  of  his 
mathematics  and  stuff  on  account  of  those  very  debts 
which  oppressed  him;  very  likely  some  of  the  odious 


318  PEXDENNIS 

tutors  and  masters  were  jealous  of  him,  and  had  favour- 
ites of  their  own  whom  they  wanted  to  put  over  his  head. 
Other  people  disliked  him  and  were  cruel  to  him,  and 
were  unfair  to  him,  she  was  very  sure.  And  so,  with 
flushing  cheeks  and  eyes  bright  with  anger,  this  young 
creature  reasoned;  and  she  went  up  and  seized  Helen's 
hand,  and  kissed  her  in  the  Doctor's  presence,  and  her 
looks  braved  the  Doctor,  and  seemed  to  ask  how  he 
dared  to  say  a  word  against  her  darling  mother's  Pen? 

When  that  divine  took  his  leave,  not  a  little  discom- 
fited and  amazed  at  the  pertinacious  obstinacy  of  the 
women,  Laura  repeated  her  embraces  and  arguments 
with  tenfold  fervour  to  Helen,  who  felt  that  there  was 
a  great  deal  of  cogency  in  most  of  the  latter.  There 
must  be  some  jealousy  against  Pen.  She  felt  quite 
sure  that  he  had  offended  some  of  the  examiners,  who 
had  taken  a  mean  revenge  of  him— nothing  more  likely. 
Altogether,  the  announcement  of  the  misfortune  vexed 
these  two  ladies  very  little  indeed.  Pen,  who  was 
plunged  in  his  shame  and  grief  in  London,  and  torn  with 
great  remorse  for  thinking  of  his  mother's  sorrow,  would 
have  wondered,  had  he  seen  how  easily  she  bore  the 
calamity.  Indeed,  calamity  is  welcome  to  women  if  they 
think  it  will  bring  truant  affection  home  again:  and  if 
you  have  reduced  your  mistress  to  a  crust,  depend  upon 
it  that  she  won't  repine,  and  only  take  a  very  little  bit 
of  it  for  herself,  provided  you  will  eat  the  remainder 
in  her  company. 

And  directly  the  Doctor  was  gone,  Laura  ordered  fires 
to  be  lighted  in  Mr.  Arthur's  rooms,  and  his  bedding  to 
be  aired;  and  had  these  preparations  completed  by  the 
time  Helen  had  finished  a  most  tender  and  affectionate 
letter  to  Pen:  when  the  girl,  smiling  fondly,  took  her 


PENDENNIS  319 

mamma  by  the  hand,  and  led  her  into  those  apartments 
where  the  fires  were  blazing  so  cheerfully,  and  there  the 
two  kind  creatures  sate  down  on  the  bed,  and  talked 
about  Pen  ever  so  long.  Laura  added  a  postscript  to 
Helen's  letter,  in  which  she  called  him  her  dearest  Pen, 
and  bade  him  come  home  instantly ,  with  two  of  the  hand- 
somest dashes  under  the  word,  and  be  happy  with  his 
mother  and  his  affectionate  sister  Laura. 

In  the  middle  of  the  night — as  these  two  ladies,  after 
reading  their  Bibles  a  great  deal  during  the  evening,  and 
after  taking  just  a  look  into  Pen's  room  as  they  passed 
to  their  own— in  the  middle  of  the  night,  I  say,  Laura, 
whose  head  not  unfrequently  chose  to  occupy  that  pil- 
low which  the  nightcap  of  the  late  Pendennis  had  been 
accustomed  to  press,  cried  out  suddenly,  "  Mamma,  are 
you  awake? " 

Helen  stirred  and  said,  "  Yes,  I'm  awake."  The  truth 
is,  though  she  had  been  lying  quite  still  and  silent,  she 
had  not  been  asleep  one  instant,  but  had  been  looking  at 
the  night-lamp  in  the  chimney,  and  had  been  thinking 
of  Pen  for  hours  and  hours. 

Then  Miss  Laura  (who  had  been  acting  with  similar 
hypocrisy,  and  lying,  occupied  with  her  own  thoughts, 
as  motionless  as  Helen's  brooch,  with  Pen's  and  Laura's 
hair  in  it,  on  the  frilled  white  pincushion  on  the  dressing- 
table)  began  to  tell  Mrs.  Pendennis  of  a  notable  plan 
which  she  had  been  forming  in  her  busy  little  brains ;  and 
by  which  all  Pen's  embarrassments  would  be  made  to 
vanish  in  a  moment,  and  without  the  least  trouble  to 
anybody. 

*  You  know,  mamma,"  this  young  lady  said,  "  that  I 
have  been  living  with  you  for  ten  years,  during  which 
time  you  have  never  taken  any  of  my  money,  and  have 


320  PENDENNIS 

been  treating  me  just  as  if  I  was  a  charity  girl.  Now, 
this  obligation  has  offended  me  very  much,  because  I  am 
proud  and  do  not  like  to  be  beholden  to  people.  And  as, 
if  I  had  gone  to  school— only  I  wouldn't — it  must  have 
cost  me  at  least  fifty  pounds  a  year,  it  is  clear  that  I  owe 
you  fifty  times  ten  pounds,  which  I  know  you  have  put 
into  the  bank  at  Chatteris  for  me,  and  which  doesn't 
belong  to  me  a  bit.  Now,  to-morrow  we  will  go  to  Chat- 
teris, and  see  that  nice  old  Mr.  Rowdy,  with  the  bald 
head,  and  ask  for  it,— not  for  his  head,  but  for  the 
five  hundred  pounds:  and  I  dare  say  he  will  lend  you 
two  more,  which  we  will  save  and  pay  back ;  and  we  will 
send  the  money  to  Pen,  who  can  pay  all  his  debts  without 
hurting  anybody,  and  then  we  will  live  happy  ever 
after." 

What  Helen  replied  to  this  speech  need  not  be  re- 
peated, as  the  widow's  answer  was  made  up  of  a  great 
number  of  incoherent  ejaculations,  embraces,  and  other 
irrelative  matter.  But  the  two  women  slept  well  after 
that  talk;  and  when  the  night-lamp  went  out  with  a 
splutter,  and  the  sun  rose  gloriously  over  the  purple  hills, 
and  the  birds  began  to  sing  and  pipe  cheerfully  amidst 
the  leafless  trees  and  glistening  evergreens  on  Fairoaks 
lawn,  Helen  woke  too,  and  as  she  looked  at  the  sweet 
face  of  the  girl  sleeping  beside  her,  her  lips  parted  with 
a  smile,  blushes  on  her  cheeks,  her  spotless  bosom  heav- 
ing and  falling  with  gentle  undulations,  as  if  happy 
dreams  were  sweeping  over  it — Pen's  mother  felt  happy 
and  grateful  beyond  all  power  of  words,  save  such  as 
pious  women  offer  up  to  the  Beneficent  Dispenser  of 
love  and  mercy — in  Whose  honour  a  chorus  of  such 
praises  is  constantly  rising  up  all  round  the  world. 

Although  it  was  January  and  rather  cold  weather,  so 
sincere  was  Mr.  Pen's  remorse,  and  so  determined  his 


PENDENNIS  321 

plans  of  economy,  that  he  would  not  take  an  inside  place 
in  the  coach,  but  sate  up  behind  with  his  friend  the 
Guard,  who  remembered  his  former  liberality,  and  lent 
him  plenty  of  great  coats.  Perhaps  it  was  the  cold  that 
made  his  knees  tremble  as  he  got  down  at  the  lodge  gate, 
or  it  may  be  that  he  was  agitated  at  the  notion  of  seeing 
the  kind  creature  for  whose  love  he  had  made  so  selfish 
a  return.  Old  John  was  in  waiting  to  receive  his  mas- 
ter's baggage,  but  he  appeared  in  a  fustian  jacket,  and 
no  longer  wore  his  livery  of  drab  and  blue.  "  I'se  garner 
and  stable  man,  and  lives  in  the  ladge  now,"  this  worthy 
man  remarked,  with  a  grin  of  welcome  to  Pen,  and  some- 
thing of  a  blush ;  but  instantly  as  Pen  turned  the  corner 
of  the  shrubbery  and  was  out  of  eye-shot  of  the  coach, 
Helen  made  her  appearance,  her  face  beaming  with  love 
and  forgiveness— for  forgiving  is  what  some  women 
love  best  of  all. 

We  may  be  sure  that  the  widow,  having  a  certain  other 
object  in  view,  had  lost  no  time  in  writing  off  to  Pen 
an  account  of  the  noble,  the  magnanimous,  the  magnifi- 
cent offer  of  Laura,  filling  up  her  letter  with  a  profu- 
sion of  benedictions  upon  both  her  children.  It  was 
probably  the  knowledge  of  this  money-obligation  which 
caused  Pen  to  blush  very  much  when  he  saw  Laura,  who 
was  in  waiting  in  the  hall,  and  who  this  time,  and  for 
this  time  only,  broke  through  the  little  arrangement  of 
which  we  have  spoken,  as  having  subsisted  between  her 
and  Arthur  for  the  last  few  years ;  but  the  truth  is,  there 
has  been  a  great  deal  too  much  said  about  kissing  in  the 
present  chapter. 

So  the  Prodigal  came  home,  and  the  fatted  calf  was 
killed  for  him,  and  he  was  made  as  happy  as  two  simple 
women  could  make  him.  No  allusions  were  made  to  the 


322  PENDENNIS 

Oxbridge  mishap,  or  questions  asked  as  to  his  farther 
proceedings,  for  some  time.  But  Pen  debated  these  anx- 
iously in  his  own  mind,  and  up  in  his  own  room,  where 
he  passed  much  time  in  cogitation. 

A  few  days  after  he  came  home,  he  rode  to  Chatteris 
on  his  horse,  and  came  back  on  the  top  of  the  coach.  He 
then  informed  his  mother  that  he  had  left  the  horse  to 
be  sold;  and  when  that  operation  was  effected,  he 
handed  her  over  the  cheque,  which  she,  and  possibly  Pen 
himself,  thought  was  an  act  of  uncommon  virtue  and 
self-denial,  but  which  Laura  pronounced  to  be  only  strict 
justice. 

He  rarely  mentioned  the  loan  which  she  had  made, 
and  which,  indeed,  had  been  accepted  by  the  widow  with 
certain  modifications ;  but  once  or  twice,  and  with  great 
hesitation  and  stammering,  he  alluded  to  it,  and  thanked 
her.  It  evidently  pained  his  vanity  to  be  beholden  to 
the  orphan  for  succour.  He  was  wild  to  find  some  means 
of  repaying  her. 

He  left  off  drinking  wine,  and  betook  himself,  but 
with  great  moderation,  to  the  refreshment  of  whisky- 
and-water.  He  gave  up  cigar  smoking ;  but  it  must  be 
confessed  that  of  late  years  he  had  liked  pipes  and  to- 
bacco as  well  or  even  better,  so  that  this  sacrifice  was  not 
a  very  severe  one. 

He  fell  asleep  a  great  deal  after  dinner  when  he  joined 
the  ladies  in  the  drawing-room,  and  was  certainly  very 
moody  and  melancholy.  He  watched  the  coaches  with 
great  interest,  walked  in  to  read  the  papers  at  Clavering 
assiduously,  dined  with  anybody  who  would  ask  him 
( and  the  widow  was  glad  that  he  should  have  any  enter- 
tainment in  their  solitary  place) ,  and  played  a  good  deal 
at  cribbage  with  Captain  Glanders. 


PENDENNIS  323 

He  avoided  Doctor  Portman,  who,  in  his  turn,  when- 
ever Pen  passed,  gave  him  very  severe  looks  from  under 
his  shovel-hat.  He  went  to  church  with  his  mother,  how- 
ever, very  regularly,  and  read  prayers  for  her  at  home  to 
the  little  household.  Always  humble,  it  was  greatly 
diminished  now :  a  couple  of  maids  did  the  work  of  the 
house  of  Fairoaks:  the  silver  dish-covers  never  saw  the 
light  at  all.  John  put  on  his  livery  to  go  to  church,  and 
assert  his  dignity  on  Sundays,  but  it  was  only  for  form's 
sake.  He  was  gardener  and  out-door  man,  vice  Up- 
ton, resigned.  There  was  but  little  fire  in  Fairoaks 
kitchen,  and  John  and  the  maids  drank  their  evening 
beer  there  by  the  light  of  a  single  candle.  All  this  was 
Mr.  Pen's  doing,  and  the  state  of  things  did  not  increase 
his  cheerfulness. 

For  some  time  Pen  said  no  power  on  earth  could  in- 
duce him  to  go  back  to  Oxbridge  again,  after  his  failure 
there;  but  one  day,  Laura  said  to  him,  with  many 
blushes,  that  she  thought,  as  some  sort  of  reparation,  of 
punishment  on  himself  for  his— for  his  idleness,  he 
ought  to  go  back  and  get  his  degree,  if  he  could  fetch  it 
by  doing  so;  and  so  back  Mr.  Pen  went. 

A  plucked  man  is  a  dismal  being  in  a  university;  be- 
longing to  no  set  of  men  there,  and  owned  by  no  one. 
Pen  felt  himself  plucked  indeed  of  all  the  fine  feathers 
which  he  had  won  during  his  brilliant  years,  and  rarely 
appeared  out  of  his  college ;  regularly  going  to  morning 
chapel,  and  shutting  himself  up  in  his  rooms  of  nights, 
away  from  the  noise  and  suppers  of  the  undergraduates. 
There  were  no  duns  about  his  door,  they  were  all  paid 
—scarcely  any  cards  were  left  there.  The  men  of  his 
year  had  taken  their  degrees,  and  were  gone.  He  went 
into  a  second  examination,  and  passed  with  perfect  ease. 


824  PENDENNIS 

He  was  somewhat  more  easy  in  his  mind  when  he  ap- 
peared in  his  bachelor's  gown. 

On  his  way  back  from  Oxbridge  he  paid  a  visit  to 
his  uncle  in  London;  but  the  old  gentleman  received 
him  with  very  cold  looks,  and  would  scarcely  give  him  his 
forefinger  to  shake.  He  called  a  second  time,  but  Mor- 
gan, the  valet,  said  his  master  was  from  home. 

Pen  came  back  to  Fairoaks,  and  to  his  books  and  .to 
his  idleness,  and  loneliness  and  despair.  He  commenced 
several  tragedies,  and  wrote  many  copies  of  verses  of  a 
gloomy  cast.  He  formed  plans  of  reading  and  broke 
them.  He  thought  about  enlisting— about  the  Spanish 
legion — about  a  profession.  He  chafed  against  his  cap- 
tivity, and  cursed  the  idleness  which  had  caused  it.  Helen 
said  he  was  breaking  his  heart,  and  was  sad  to  see  his 
prostration.  As  soon  as  they  could  afford  it,  he  should 
go  abroad— he  should  go  to  London — he  should  be  freed 
from  the  dull  society  of  two  poor  women.  It  was  dull— 
very,  certainly.  The  tender  widow's  habitual  melan- 
choly seemed  to  deepen  into  a  sadder  gloom ;  and  Laura 
saw  with  alarm  that  the  dear  friend  became  every  year 
more  languid  and  weary,  and  that  her  pale  cheek  grew 
more  wan. 


CHAPTER  XXII 


NEW  FACES 

HE  inmates  of  Fair- 
oaks  were  drowsi- 
ly pursuing  this 
humdrum  existence, 
while  the  great 
house  upon  the  hill, 
on  the  other  side  of 
the  River  Brawl,  was 
shaking  off  the 
slumber  in  which  it 
had  lain  during  the 
lives  of  two  genera- 
.  tions  of  masters,  and 
giving  extraordinary  signs  of  renewed  liveliness. 

Just  about  the  time  of  Pen's  little  mishap,  and  when 
he  was  so  absorbed  in  the  grief  occasioned  by  that  calam- 
ity as  to  take  no  notice  of  events  which  befel  persons 
less  interesting  to  himself  than  Arthur  Pendennis,  an 
announcement  appeared  in  the  provincial  journals  which 
caused  no  small  sensation  in  the  county  at  least,  and  in 
all  the  towns,  villages,  halls  and  mansions,  and  parson- 
ages for  many  miles  round  Clavering  Park.  At  Clav- 
ering  Market ;  at  Cackleby  Fair ;  at  Chatteris  Sessions ; 
on  Gooseberry  Green,  as  the  squire's  carriage  met  the 
vicar's  one-horse  contrivance,  and  the  inmates  of  both 
vehicles  stopped  on  the  road  tto  talk;  at  Tinkleton 

325 


326  PENDENNIS 

Church  gate,  as  the  bell  was  tolling  in  the  sunshine,  and 
the  white  smocks  and  scarlet  cloaks  came  trooping  over 
the  green  common,  to  Sunday  worship;  in  a  hundred 
societies  round  about — the  word  was,  that  Clavering 
Park  was  to  be  inhabited  again. 

Some  five  years  before,  the  county  papers  had  ad- 
vertised the  marriage  at  Florence,  at  the  British  Lega- 
tion, of  Francis  Clavering,  Esq.,  only  son  of  Sir  Francis 
Clavering,  Bart.,  of  Clavering  Park,  with  Jemima  Au- 
gusta, daughter  of  Samuel  Snell,  of  Calcutta,  Esq.,  and 
widow  of  the  late  J.  Amory,  Esq.  At  that  time  the 
legend  in  the  county  was  that  Clavering,  who  had  been 
ruined  for  many  a  year,  had  married  a  widow  from  India 
with  some  money.  Some  of  the  county  folks  caught  a 
sight  of  the  newly-married  pair.  The  Kickleburys,  trav- 
elling in  Italy,  had  seen  them.  Clavering  occupied  the 
Poggi  Palace  at  Florence,  gave  parties,  and  lived  com- 
fortably—but could  never  come  to  England.  Another 
year — young  Peregrine,  of  Cackleby,  making  a  Long 
Vacation  tour,  had  fallen  in  with  the  Claverings  occu- 
pying Schloss  Schinkenstein,  on  the  Mummul  See.  At 
Rome,  at  Lucca,  at  Nice,  at  the  baths  and  gambling 
places  of  the  Rhine  and  Belgium,  this  worthy  couple 
might  occasionally  be  heard  of  by  the  curious,  and  ru- 
mours of  them  came,  as  it  were  by  gusts,  to  Clavering's 
ancestral  place. 

Their  last  place  of  abode  was  Paris,  where  they  appear 
to  have  lived  in  great  fashion  and  splendour  after  the 
news  of  the  death  of  Samuel  Snell,  Esq.,  of  Calcutta, 
reached  his  orphan  daughter  in  Europe. 

Of  Sir  Francis  Clavering's  antecedents  little  can  be 
said  that  would  be  advantageous  to  that  respected  baro- 
net. The  son  of  an  outlaw,  living  in  a  dismal  old  chateau 


PENDENNIS  327 

near  Bruges,  this  gentleman  had  made  a  feeble  attempt 
to  start  in  life  with  a  commission  in  a  dragoon  regiment, 
and  had  broken  down  almost  at  the  outset.  Trans- 
actions at  the  gambling-table  had  speedily  effected  his 
ruin;  after  a  couple  of  years  in  the  army  he  had  been 
forced  to  sell  out,  had  passed  some  time  in  Her  Majes- 
ty's prison  of  the  Fleet,  and  had  then  shipped  over  to 
Ostend  to  join  the  gouty  exile,  his  father.  And  in  Bel- 
gium, France,  and  Germany,  for  some  years  this 
decayed  and  abortive  prodigal  might  be  seen  lurking 
about  billiard-rooms  and  watering-places,  punting  at 
gambling-houses,  dancing  at  boarding-house  balls,  and 
riding  steeple-chases  on  other  folks'  horses. 

It  was  at  a  boarding-house  at  Lausanne,  that  Francis 
Clavering  made  what  he  called  the  lucky  coup  of  marry- 
ing the  widow  Amory,  very  lately  returned  from  Cal- 
cutta. His  father  died  soon  after,  by  consequence  of 
whose  demise  his  wife  became  Lady  Clavering.  The 
title  so  delighted  Mr.  Snell  of  Calcutta,  that  he  doubled 
his  daughter's  allowance ;  and,  dying  himself  soon  after, 
left  a  fortune  to  her  and  her  children,  the  amount  of 
which  was,  if  not  magnified  by  rumour,  something  very 
splendid  indeed. 

Before  this  time  there  had  been,  not  rumours  unfa- 
vourable to  Lady  Clavering's  reputation,  but  unpleasant 
impressions  regarding  her  ladyship.  The  best  English 
people  abroad  were  shy  of  making  her  acquaintance; 
her  manners  were  not  the  most  refined;  her  origin  was 
lamentably  low  and  doubtful.  The  retired  East  In- 
dians, who  are  to  be  found  in  considerable  force  in  most 
of  the  continental  towns  frequented  by  English,  spoke 
with  much  scorn  of  the  disreputable  old  lawyer  and 
indigo-smuggler  her  father,  and- of  Amory,  her  first  hus- 


328  PENDENNIS 

band,  who  had  been  mate  of  the  Indiaman  in  which  Miss 
Snell  came  out  to  join  her  father  at  Calcutta.  Neither 
father  nor  daughter  was  in  society  at  Calcutta,  or  had 
ever  been  heard  of  at  Government  House.  Old  Sir 
Jasper  Rogers,  who  had  been  Chief  Justice  of  Calcutta, 
had  once  said  to  his  wife,  that  he  could  tell  a  queer  story 
about  Lady  Clavering's  first  husband;  but  greatly  to 
Lady  Rogers's  disappointment,  and  that  of  the  young 
ladies  his  daughters,  the  old  Judge  could  never  be  got 
to  reveal  that  mystery. 

They  were  all,  however,  glad  enough  to  go  to  Lady 
Clavering's  parties,  when  her  ladyship  took  the  Hotel 
Bouilli  in  the  Rue  Crenelle  at  Paris,  and  blazed  out  in 
the  polite  world  there  in  the  winter  of  183 — .  The  Fau- 
bourg St.  Germain  took  her  up.  Viscount  Bagwig,  our 
excellent  ambassador,  paid  her  marked  attention.  The 
princes  of  the  family  frequented  her  salons.  The  most 
rigid  and  noted  of  the  English  ladies  resident  in  the 
French  capital  acknowledged  and  countenanced  her ;  the 
virtuous  Lady  Elderbury,  the  severe  Lady  Rockminster, 
the  venerable  Countess  of  Southdown — people,  in  a 
word,  renowned  for  austerity,  and  of  quite  a  dazzling 
moral  purity:— so  great  and  beneficent  an  influence  had 
the  possession  of  ten  (some  said  twenty)  thousand-a- 
year  exercised  upon  Lady  Clavering's  character  and  rep- 
utation. And  her  munificence  and  good-will  were  un- 
bounded. Anybody  (in  society)  who  had  a  scheme  of 
charity  was  sure  to  find  her  purse  open.  The  French 
ladies  of  piety  got  money  from  her  to  support  their 
schools  and  convents;  she  subscribed  indifferently  for 
the  Armenian  patriarch;  for  Father  Barbarossa,  who 
came  to  Europe  to  collect  funds  for  his  monastery  on 
Mount  Athos;  for  the  Baptist  Mission  to  Quashyboo, 


PENDENNIS  329 

and  the  Orthodox  Settlement  in  Feefawfoo,  the  largest 
and  most  savage  of  the  Cannibal  Islands.  And  it  is  on 
record  of  her,  that,  on  the  same  day  on  which  Madame 
de  Cricri  got  five  Napoleons  from  her  in  support  of  the 
poor  persecuted  Jesuits,  who  were  at  that  time  in  very 
bad  odour  in  France,  Lady  Budelight  put  her  down  in 
her  subscription-list  for  the  Rev.  J.  Ramshorn,  who  had 
had  a  vision  which  ordered  him  to  convert  the  Pope  of 
Rome.  And  more  than  this,  and  for  the  benefit  of  the 
worldly,  her  ladyship  gave  the  best  dinners,  and  the 
grandest  balls  and  suppers,  which  were  known  at  Paris 
during  that  season. 

And  it  was  during  this  time,  that  the  good-natured 
lady  must  have  arranged  matters  with  her  husband's 
creditors  in  England,  for  Sir  Francis  re-appeared  in  his 
native  country,  without  fear  of  arrest;  was  announced 
in  the  Morning  Post,  and  the  county  paper,  as  having 
taken  up  his  residence  at  Mivart's  Hotel;  and  one  day 
the  anxious  old  housekeeper  at  Clavering  House  beheld 
a  carriage  and  four  horses  drive  up  the  long  avenue,  and 
stop  before  the  moss-grown  steps  in  front  of  the  vast 
melancholy  portico. 

Three  gentlemen  were  in  the  carriage — an  open  one. 
On  the  back  seat  was  our  old  acquaintance,  Mr.  Tatham 
of  Chatteris,  whilst  in  the  places  of  honour  sate  a  hand- 
some and  portly  gentleman  enveloped  in  moustachios, 
whiskers,  fur  collars,  and  braiding,  and  by  him  a  pale 
languid  man,  who  descended  feebly  from  the  carriage, 
when  the  little  lawyer,  and  the  gentleman  in  fur,  had 
nimbly  jumped  out  of  it. 

They  walked  up  the  great  moss-grown  steps  to  the 
hall-door,  and  a  foreign  attendant,  with  ear-rings  and  a 
gold-laced  cap,  pulled  strenuously  at  the  great  bell-han- 


330  PENDENNIS 

die  at  the  cracked  and  sculptured  gate.  The  bell  was 
heard  clanging  loudly  through  the  vast  gloomy  mansion. 
Steps  resounded  presently  upon  the  marble  pavement 
of  the  hall  within;  and  the  doors  opened,  and  finally, 
Mrs.  Blenkinsop,  the  housekeeper,  Polly,  her  aide-de- 
camp, and  Smart,  the  keeper,  appeared  bowing  humbly. 

Smart,  the  keeper,  pulled  the  wisp  of  hay-coloured 
hair  which  adorned  his  sunburnt  forehead,  kicked  out 
his  left  heel,  as  if  there  were  a  dog  biting  at  his  calves, 
and  brought  down  his  head  to  a  bow.  Old  Mrs.  Blen- 
kinsop dropped  a  curtsey.  Little  Polly,  her  aide-de- 
camp, made  a  curtsey,  and  several  rapid  bows  likewise: 
and  Mrs.  Blenkinsop,  with  a  great  deal  of  emotion,  qua- 
vered out,  "  Welcome  to  Clavering,  Sir  Francis.  It  du 
my  poor  eyes  good  to  see  one  of  the  family  once  more." 

The  speech  and  the  greetings  were  all  addressed  to 
the  grand  gentleman  in  fur  and  braiding,  who  wore  his 
hat  so  magnificently  on  one  side,  and  twirled  his  mousta- 
chios  so  royally.  But  he  burst  out  laughing,  and  said, 
'  You've  saddled  the  wrong  horse,  old  lady — I'm  not 
Sir  Francis  Clavering  what's  come  to  revisit  the  halls 
of  my  ancestors.  Friends  and  vassals!  behold  your 
rightful  lord!" 

And  he  pointed  his  hand  towards  the  pale,  languid 
gentleman,  who  said,  "  Don't  be  an  ass,  Ned." 

'  Yes,  Mrs.  Blenkinsop,  I'm  Sir  Francis  Clavering; 
I  recollect  you  quite  well.  Forgot  me,  I  suppose? — How 
dy  do?  "  and  he  took  the  old  lady's  trembling  hand;  and 
nodded  in  her  astonished  face,  in  a  not  unkind  manner. 

Mrs.  Blenkinsop  declared  upon  her  conscience  that 
she  would  have  known  Sir  Francis  anywhere;  that  he 
was  the  very  image  of  Sir  Francis  his  father,  and  of 
Sir  John  who  had  gone  before. 


PENDENNIS  331 

"  O  yes— thanky— of  course— very  much  obliged— 
and  that  sort  of  thing,"  Sir  Francis  said,  looking  va- 
cantly about  the  hall.  "  Dismal  old  place,  ain't  it,  Ned? 
Never  saw  it  but  once,  when  my  governor  quarrelled 
with  my  gwandfather,  in  the  year  twenty-thwee." 

"Dismal?— beautiful!— the  Castle  of  Otranto!— the 
Mysteries  of  Udolpho,  by  Jove ! "  said  the  individual 
addressed  as  Ned.  'What  a  fire-place!  You  might 
roast  an  elephant  in  it.  Splendid  carved  gallery!  In- 
igo  Jones,  by  Jove !  I'd  lay  five  to  two  it's  Inigo  Jones." 
'  The  upper  part  by  Inigo  Jones;  the  lower  was 
altered  by  the  eminent  Dutch  architect,  Vanderputty,  in 
George  the  First  his  time,  by  Sir  Richard,  fourth  baro- 
net," said  the  housekeeper. 

"  O  indeed,"  said  the  Baronet.  '  'Gad,  Ned,  you 
know  everything." 

"  I  know  a  few  things,  Frank,"  Ned  answered.  "  I 
know  that's  not  a  Snyders  over  the  mantel-piece — bet 
you  three  to  one  it's  a  copy.  We'll  restore  it,  my  boy. 
A  lick  of  varnish,  and  it  will  come  out  wonderfully,  sir. 
That  old  fellow  in  the  red  gown,  I  suppose,  is  Sir 
Richard." 

"  Sheriff  of  the  county,  and  sate  in  parliament  in  the 
reign  of  Queen  Anne,"  said  the  housekeeper,  wondering 
at  the  stranger's  knowledge;  "  that  on  the  right  is  Theo- 
dosia,  wife  of  Harbottle,  second  baronet,  by  Lely,  repre- 
sented in  the  character  of  Venus,  the  Goddess  of  Beauty, 
—her  son  Gregory,  the  third  baronet,  by  her  side,  as 
Cupid,  God  of  Love,  with  a  bow  and  arrows;  that  on 
the  next  panel  is  Sir  Rupert,  made  a  knight  banneret 
by  Charles  the  First,  and  whose  property  was  confus- 
cated  by  Oliver  Cromwell." 

'  Thank  you — needn't  go  on-,  Mrs.  Blenkinsop,"  said 


332  PENDENNIS 

the  Baronet.  '  We'll  walk  about  the  place  ourselves. 
Frosch,  give  me  a  cigar.  Have  a  cigar,  Mr.  Tatham?  " 

Little  Mr.  Tatham  tried  a  cigar  which  Sir  Francis's 
courier  handed  to  him,  and  over  which  the  lawyer  splut- 
tered fearfully.  "  Needn't  come  with  us,  Mrs.  Blenkin- 
sop.  What's-his-name — you — Smart — feed  the  horses 
and  wash  their  mouths.  Shan't  stay  long.  Come  along, 
Strong, — I  know  the  way:  I  was  here  in  twenty-thwee, 
at  the  end  of  my  gwandfather's  time."  And  Sir  Francis 
and  Captain  Strong,  for  such  was  the  style  and  title  of 
Sir  Francis's  friend,  passed  out  of  the  hall  into  the  re- 
ception-rooms, leaving  the  discomfited  Mrs.  Blenkinsop 
to  disappear  by  a  side-door  which  led  to  her  apartments, 
now  the  only  habitable  rooms  in  the  long-uninhabited 
mansion. 

It  was  a  place  so  big  that  no  tenant  could  afford  to 
live  in  it ;  and  Sir  Francis  and  his  friend  walked  through 
room  after  room,  admiring  their  vastness  and  dreary  and 
deserted  grandeur.  On  the  right  of  the  hall  door  were 
the  saloons  and  drawing-rooms,  and  on  the  other  side 
the  oak  room,  the  parlour,  the  grand  dining-room,  the 
library,  where  Pen  had  found  books  in  old  days.  Round 
three  sides  of  the  hall  ran  a  gallery,  by  which,  and  cor- 
responding passages,  the  chief  bed-rooms  were  ap- 
proached, and  of  which  many  were  of  stately  propor- 
tions and  exhibited  marks  of  splendour.  On  the  second 
story  was  a  labyrinth  of  little  discomfortable  garrets, 
destined  for  the  attendants  of  the  great  folks  who  in- 
habited the  mansion  in  the  days  when  it  was  first  built: 
and  I  do  not  know  any  more  cheering  mark  of  the  in- 
creased philanthropy  of  our  own  times,  than  to  contrast 
our  domestic  architecture  with  that  of  our  ancestors,  and 
to  see  how  much  better  servants  and  poor  are  cared  for 


PENDENNIS  333 

at  present,  than  in  times  when  my  lord  and  my  lady 
slept  under  gold  canopies,  and  their  servants  lay  above 
them  in  quarters  not  so  airy  or  so  clean  as  stables  are 
now. 

Up  and  down  the  house  the  two  gentlemen  wandered, 
the  owner  of  the  mansion  being  very  silent  and  resigned 
about  the  pleasure  of  possessing  it;  whereas  the  Cap- 
tain, his  friend,  examined  the  premises  with  so  much 
interest  and  eagerness  that  you  would  have  thought 
he  was  the  master,  and  the  other  the  indifferent  spec- 
tator of  the  place.  "  I  see  capabilities  in  it— capabili- 
ties in  it,  sir,"  cried  the  Captain.  "  Gad,  sir,  leave  it 
to  me,  and  I'll  make  it  the  pride  of  the  country,  at 
a  small  expense.  What  a  theatre  we  can  have  in  the 
library  here,  the  curtains  between  the  columns  which 
divide  the  room!  What  a  famous  room  for  a  galop! 
—it  will  hold  the  whole  shire.  We'll  hang  the  morn- 
ing parlour  with  the  tapestry  in  your  second  salon 
in  the  Rue  de  Crenelle,  and  furnish  the  oak  room  with 
the  Moyen-age  cabinets  and  the  armour.  Armour  looks 
splendid  against  black  oak,  and  there's  a  Venice  glass 
in  the  Quai  Voltaire,  which  will  suit  that  high  mantel- 
piece to  an  inch,  sir.  The  long  saloon,  white  and  crim- 
son, of  course ;  the  drawing-room  yellow  satin ;  and  the 
little  drawing-room  light  blue,  with  lace  over — hey?  " 

"  I  recollect  my  old  governor  caning  me  in  that  little 
room,"  Sir  Francis  said  sententiously ;  "  he  always  hated 
me,  my  old  governor." 

"  Chintz  is  the  dodge,  I  suppose,  for  my  lady's  rooms 
— the  suite  in  the  landing,  to  the  south,  the  bed-room,  the 
sitting-room,  and  the  dressing-room.  We'll  throw  a  con- 
servatory out,  over  the  balcony.  Where  will  you  have 
your  rooms?  " 


334  PENDENNIS 

"  Put  mine  in  the  north  wing,"  said  the  Baronet,  with 
a  yawn,  "  and  out  of  the  reach  of  Miss  Amory's  con- 
founded piano.  I  can't  bear  it.  She's  scweeching  from 
morning  till  night." 

The  Captain  burst  out  laughing.  He  settled  the 
whole  further  arrangements  of  the  house  in  the  course  of 
their  walk  through  it;  and,  the  promenade  ended,  they 
went  into  the  steward's  room,  now  inhabited  by  Mrs. 
Blenkinsop,  and  where  Mr.  Tatham  was  sitting  poring 
over  a  plan  of  the  estate,  and  the  old  housekeeper  had 
prepared  a  collation  in  honour  of  her  lord  and  master. 

Then  they  inspected  the  kitchen  and  stables,  about 
both  of  which  Sir  Francis  was  rather  interested,  and 
Captain  Strong  was  for  examining  the  gardens;  but 
the  baronet  said,  "  D —  the  gardens,  and  that  sort  of 
thing! "  and  finally  he  drove  away  from  the  house  as 
unconcernedly  as  he  had  entered  it;  and  that  night  the 
people  of  Clavering  learned  that  Sir  Francis  Clavering 
had  paid  a  visit  to  the  Park,  and  was  coming  to  live  in 
the  county. 

When  this  fact  came  to  be  known  at  Chatteris,  all 
the  folks  in  the  place  were  set  in  commotion:  High 
Church  and  Low  Church,  half-pay  captains  and  old 
maids  and  dowagers,  sporting  squireens  of  the  vicinage, 
farmers,  tradesmen,  and  factory  people— all  the  popu- 
lation in  and  round  about  the  little  place.  The  news  was 
brought  to  Fairoaks,  and  received  by  the  ladies  there, 
and  by  Mr.  Pen,  with  some  excitement.  "  Mrs.  Pybus 
says  there  is  a  very  pretty  girl  in  the  family,  Arthur," 
Laura  said,  who  was  as  kind  and  thoughtful  upon  this 
point  as  women  generally  are :  "  a  Miss  Amory,  Lady 
Clavering's  daughter  by  her  first  marriage.  Of  course, 
you'll  fall  in  love  with  her  as  soon  as  she  arrives." 


PENDENNIS  335 

Helen  cried  out,  "  Don't  talk  nonsense,  Laura."  Pen 
laughed,  and  said,  "  Well,  there  is  the  young  Sir  Francis 
for  you." 

"  He  is  but  four  years  old,"  Miss  Laura  replied. 
"But  I  shall  console  myself  with  that  handsome  officer, 
Sir  Francis's  friend.  He  was  at  church  last  Sunday,  in 
the  Clavering  pew,  and  his  moustachios  were  beautiful." 

Indeed  the  number  of  Sir  Francis's  family  (whereof 
the  members  have  all  been  mentioned  in  the  above  para- 
graphs) was  pretty  soon  known  in  the  town,  and  every- 
thing else,  as  nearly  as  human  industry  and  ingenuity 
could  calculate,  regarding  his  household.  The  Park 
avenue  and  grounds  were  dotted  now  with  town  folks 
of  the  summer  evenings,  who  made  their  way  up  to  the 
great  house,  peered  about  the  premises,  and  criticised 
the  improvements  which  were  taking  place  there.  Loads 
upon  loads  of  furniture  arrived  in  numberless  vans  from 
Chatteris  and  London;  and  numerous  as  the  vans  were, 
there  was  not  one  but  Captain  Glanders  knew  what  it 
contained,  and  escorted  the  baggage  up  to  the  Park 
House. 

He  and  Captain  Edward  Strong  had  formed  an  in- 
timate acquaintance  by  this  time.  The  younger  Cap- 
tain occupied  those  very  lodgings  at  Clavering,  which 
the  peaceful  Smirke  had  previously  tenanted,  and  was 
deep  in  the  good  graces  of  Madame  Fribsby,  his  land- 
lady ;  and  of  the  whole  town,  indeed.  The  Captain  was 
splendid  in  person  and  raiment;  fresh -coloured,  blue- 
eyed,  black -whiskered,  broad-chested,  athletic— a  slight 
tendency  to  fulness  did  not  take  away  from  the  comeli- 
ness of  his  jolly  figure — a  braver  soldier  never  presented 
a  broader  chest  to  the  enemy.  As  he  strode  down  Clav- 
ering High  Street,  his  hat  on  one  side,  his  cane  clank- 


336  PENDENNIS 

ing  on  the  pavement,  or  waving  round  him  in  the  execu- 
tion of  military  cuts  and  soldatesque  manoeuvres — his 
jolly  laughter  ringing  through  the  otherwise  silent  street 
—he  was  as  welcome  as  sunshine  to  the  place,  and  a 
comfort  to  every  inhabitant  in  it. 

On  the  first  market-day  he  knew  every  pretty  girl  in 
the  market:  he  joked  with  all  the  women;  had  a  word 
with  the  farmers  about  their  stock,  and  dined  at  the 
Agricultural  Ordinary  at  the  Clavering  Arms,  where  he 
set  them  all  dying  with  laughter  by  his  fun  and  jokes. 
'  Tu  be  sure  he  be  a  vine  feller,  tu  be  sure  that  he  be," 
was  the  universal  opinion  of  the  gentlemen  in  top-boots. 
He  shook  hands  with  a  score  of  them,  as  they  rode  out 
of  the  inn-yard  on  their  old  nags,  waving  his  hat  to  them 
splendidly  as  he  smoked  his  cigar  in  the  inn-gate.  In 
the  course  of  the  evening  he  was  free  of  the  landlady's 
bar,  knew  what  rent  the  landlord  paid,  how  many  acres 
he  farmed,  how  much  malt  he  put  in  his  strong  beer ;  and 
whether  he  ever  run  in  a  little  brandy  unexcised  by 
kings  from  Baymouth,  or  the  fishing  villages  along 
the  coast. 

He  had  tried  to  live  at  the  great  house  first ;  but  it  was 
so  dull  he  couldn't  stand  it.  'I  am  a  creature  born  for 
society,"  he  told  Captain  Glanders.  "I'm  down  here 
to  see  Clavering's  house  set  in  order;  for  between  our- 
selves, Frank  has  no  energy,  sir,  no  energy;  he's  not 
the  chest  for  it,  sir  (and  he  threw  out  his  own  trunk  as 
he  spoke) ;  but  I  must  have  social  intercourse.  Old 
Mrs.  Blenkinsop  goes  to  bed  at  seven,  and  takes  Polly 
with  her.  There  was  nobody  but  me  and  the  Ghost  for 
the  first  two  nights  at  the  great  house,  and  I  own  it,  sir, 
I  like  company.  Most  old  soldiers  do." 

Glanders  asked  Strong  where  he  had  served?    Cap- 


PENDENNIS  337 

tain  Strong  curled  his  moustache,  and  said  with  a  laugh, 
that  the  other  might  almost  ask  where  he  had  not  served. 
"  I  began,  sir,  as  cadet  of  Hungarian  Uhlans,  and  when 
the  war  of  Greek  independence  broke  out,  quitted  that 
service  in  consequence  of  a  quarrel  with  my  governor, 
and  was  one  of  the  seven  who  escaped  from  Missolonghi, 
and  was  blown  up  in  one  of  Botzaris's  fireships,  at  the 
age  of  seventeen.  I'll  show  you  my  Cross  of  the  Re- 
deemer, if  you'll  come  over  to  my  lodgings  and  take  a 
glass  of  grog  with  me,  Captain,  this  evening.  I've  a 
few  of  those  baubles  in  my  desk.  I've  the  White  Eagle 
of  Poland;  Skrzynecki  gave  it  me"  (he  pronounced 
Skrzynecki's  name  with  wonderful  accuracy  and  gusto) 
"  upon  the  field  of  Ostrolenko.  I  was  a  lieutenant  of 
the  fourth  regiment,  sir,  and  we  marched  through  Die- 
bitsch's  lines — bang  thro'  'em  into  Prussia,  sir,  without 
firing  a  shot.  Ah,  Captain,  that  was  a  mismanaged 
business.  I  received  this  wound  by  the  side  of  the  King 
before  Oporto — where  he  would  have  pounded  the  stock- 
jobbing Pedroites,  had  Bourmont  followed  my  advice; 
and  I  served  in  Spain  with  the  King's  troops,  until  the 
death  of  my  dear  friend,  Zumalacarreguy,  when  I  saw 
the  game  was  over,  and  hung  up  my  toasting-iron,  Cap- 
tain. Alava  offered  me  a  regiment;  but  I  couldn't — 
damme,  I  couldn't — and  now,  sir,  you  know  Ned  Strong 
—the  Chevalier  Strong  they  call  me  abroad — as  well  as 
he  knows  himself." 

In  this  way  almost  everybody  in  Clavering  came  to 
know  Ned  Strong.  He  told  Madame  Fribsby,  he  told 
the  landlord  of  the  George,  he  told  Baker  at  the  reading- 
rooms,  he  told  Mrs.  Glanders,  and  the  young  ones,  at 
dinner :  and  finally,  he  told  Mr.  Arthur  Pendennis,  who, 
yawning  into  Clavering  one  day,  found  the  Chevalier 


338  PENDENNIS 

Strong  in  company  with  Captain  Glanders;  and  who 
was  delighted  with  his  new  acquaintance. 

Before  many  days  were  over,  Captain  Strong  was  as 
much  at  home  in  Helen's  drawing-room  as  he  was  in 
Madame  Fribsby's  first  floor ;  and  made  the  lonely  house 
very  gay  with  his  good  humour  and  ceaseless  flow  of 
talk.  The  two  women  had  never  before  seen  such  a 
man.  He  had  a  thousand  stories  about  battles  and  dan- 
gers to  interest  them — about  Greek  captives,  Polish 
beauties,  and  Spanish  nuns.  He  could  sing  scores  of 
songs,  in  half-a-dozen  languages,  and  would  sit  down 
to  the  piano  and  troll  them  off  in  a  rich  manly  voice. 
Both  the  ladies  pronounced  him  to  be  delightful— and 
so  he  was :  though,  indeed,  they  had  not  had  much  choice 
of  man's  society  as  yet,  having  seen  in  the  course  of  their 
lives  but  few  persons,  except  old  Portman  and  the  Ma- 
jor, and  Mr.  Pen,  who  was  a  genius,  to  be  sure;  but  then 
your  geniuses  are  somewhat  flat  and  moody  at  home. 

And  Captain  Strong  acquainted  his  new  friends  at 
Fairoaks,  not  only  with  his  own  biography,  but  with 
the  whole  history  of  the  family  now  coming  to  Claver- 
ing.  It  was  he  who  had  made  the  marriage  between  his 
friend  Frank  and  the  widow  Amory.  She  wanted  rank, 
and  he  wanted  money.  What  match  could  be  more  suit- 
able? He  organised  it;  he  made  those  two  people 
happy.  There  was  no  particular  romantic  attachment 
between  them;  the  widow  was  not  of  an  age  or  a  per- 
son for  romance,  and  Sir  Francis,  if  he  had  his  game 
at  billiards,  and  his  dinner,  cared  for  little  besides.  But 
they  were  as  happy  as  people  could  be.  Clavering  would 
return  to  his  native  place  and  country,  his  wife's  fortune 
would  pay  his  encumbrances  off,  and  his  son  and  heir 
would  be  one  of  the  first  men  in  the  county. 


PENDENNIS  339 

"  And  Miss  Amory?  "  Laura  asked.  Laura  was  un- 
commonly curious  about  Miss  Amory. 

Strong  laughed.  "  Oh,  Miss  Amory  is  a  muse — Miss 
Amory  is  a  mystery — Miss  Amory  is  a  femme  incom- 
rprise"  '  What  is  that?  "  asked  simple  Mrs.  Pendennis 
— but  the  Chevalier  gave  her  no  answer;  perhaps  could 
not  give  her  one.  "  Miss  Amory  paints,  Miss  Amory 
writes  poems,  Miss  Amory  composes  music,  Miss  Amory 
rides  like  Diana  Vernon.  Miss  Amory  is  a  paragon, 
in  a  word." 

"  I  hate  clever  women,"  said  Pen. 

'  Thank  you,"  said  Laura.  For  her  part  she  was  sure 
she  should  be  charmed  with  Miss  Amory,  and  quite 
longed  to  have  such  a  friend.  And  with  this  she  looked 
Pen  full  in  the  face,  as  if  every  word  the  little  hypocrite 
said  was  Gospel  truth. 

Thus  an  intimacy  was  arranged  and  prepared  before- 
hand between  the  Fairoaks  family  and  their  wealthy 
neighbours  at  the  Park;  and  Pen  and  Laura  were  to 
the  full  as  eager  for  their  arrival,  as  even  the  most  curi- 
ous of  the  Clavering  folks.  A  Londoner,  who  sees  fresh 
faces  and  yawns  at  them  every  day,  may  smile  at  the 
eagerness  with  which  country  people  expect  a  visitor. 
A  cockney  comes  amongst  them,  and  is  remembered 
by  his  rural  entertainers  for  years  after  he  has  left  them, 
and  forgotten  them  very  likely — floated  far  away  from 
them  on  the  vast  London  sea.  But  the  islanders  remem- 
ber long  after  the  mariner  has  sailed  away,  and  can  tell 
you  what  he  said  and  what  he  wore,  and  how  he  looked 
and  how  he  laughed.  In  fine,  a  new  arrival  is  an  event 
in  the  country  not  to  be  understood  by  us,  who  don't, 
and  had  rather  not,  know  who  lives  next  door. 

When  the  painters  and  upholsterers  had  done  their 


340  PENDENNIS 

work  in  the  house,  and  so  beautified  it,  under  Captain 
Strong's  superintendence,  that  he  might  well  be  proud 
of  his  taste,  that  gentleman  announced  that  he  should 
go  to  London,  where  the  whole  family  had  arrived  by 
this  time,  and  should  speedily  return  to  establish  them 
in  their  renovated  mansion. 

Detachments  of  domestics  preceded  them.  Carriages 
came  down  by  sea,  and  were  brought  over  from  Bay- 
mouth  by  horses  which  had  previously  arrived  under  the 
care  of  grooms  and  coachmen.  One  day  the  "  Alacrity  " 
coach  brought  down  on  its  roof  two  large  and  melancholy 
men,  who  were  dropped  at  the  Park  lodge  with  their 
trunks,  and  who  were  Messieurs  Frederic  and  James, 
metropolitan  footmen,  who  had  no  objection  to  the  coun- 
try, and  brought  with  them  state  and  other  suits  of  the 
Clavering  uniform. 

On  another  day,  the  mail  deposited  at  the  gate  a  for- 
eign gentleman,  adorned  with  many  ringlets  and  chains. 
He  made  a  great  riot  at  the  lodge  gate  to  the  keeper's 
wife  (who,  being  a  West  country  woman,  did  not  under- 
stand his  English  or  his  Gascon  French ) ,  because  there 
was  no  carriage  in  waiting  to  drive  him  to  the  house,  a 
mile  off,  and  because  he  could  not  walk  entire  leagues 
in  his  fatigued  state  and  varnished  boots.  This  was 
Monsieur  Alcide  Mirobolant,  formerly  Chef  of  his 
Highness  the  Due  de  Borodino,  of  H.  Eminence  Cardi- 
nal Beccafico,  and  at  present  Chef  of  the  bouche  of  Sir 
Clavering,  Baronet: — Monsieur  Mirobolant's  library, 
pictures,  and  piano,  had  arrived  previously  in  charge 
of  the  intelligent  young  Englishman,  his  aide-de-camp. 
He  was,  moreover,  aided  by  a  professed  female  cook, 
likewise  from  London,  who  had  inferior  females  under 
her  orders. 


PENDENNIS 


341 


He  did  not  dine  in  the  steward's  room,  but  took  his 
nutriment  in  solitude  in  his  own  apartments,  where  a 


female  servant  was  affected  to  his  private  use.  It  was 
a  grand  sight  to  behold  him  in  his  dressing-gown  com- 
posing a  menu.  He  always  sate  down  and  played  the 
piano  for  some  time  before.  If  interrupted,  he  remon- 
strated pathetically.  Every  great  artist,  he  said,  had 
need  of  solitude  to  perfectionate  his  works. 

But  we  are  advancing  matters  in  the  fulness  of  our 


342  PENDENNIS 

love  and  respect  for  Monsieur  Mirobolant,  and  bringing 
him  prematurely  on  the  stage. 

The  Chevalier  Strong  had  a  hand  in  the  engagement 
of  all  the  London  domestics,  and,  indeed,  seemed  to  be 
the  master  of  the  house.  There  were  those  among  them 
who  said  he  was  the  house-steward,  only  he  dined  with 
the  family.  Howbeit,  he  knew  how  to  make  himself 
respected,  and  two  of  by  no  means  the  least  comforta- 
ble rooms  of  the  house  were  assigned  to  his  particular 
use. 

He  was  walking  upon  the  terrace  finally  upon  the 
eventful  day,  when,  amidst  an  immense  jangling  of  bells 
from  Clavering  Church,  where  the  flag  was  flying,  an 
open  carriage  and  one  of  those  travelling  chariots  or 
family  arks,  which  only  English  philo-progenitiveness 
could  invent,  drove  rapidly  with  foaming  horses  through 
the  Park  gates,  and  up  to  the  steps  of  the  Hall.  The 
two  battans  of  the  sculptured  door  flew  open.  Two  su- 
perior officers  in  black,  the  large  and  melancholy  gen- 
tlemen, now  in  livery  with  their  hair  in  powder,  the 
country  menials  engaged  to  aid  them,  were  in  waiting 
in  the  hall,  and  bowed  like  tall  elms  when  autumn  winds 
wail  in  the  park.  Through  this  avenue  passed  Sir  Fran- 
cis Clavering  with  a  most  unmoved  face:  Lady  Clav- 
ering, with  a  pair  of  bright  black  eyes,  and  a  good- 
humoured  countenance,  which  waggled  and  nodded  very 
graciously:  Master  Francis  Clavering,  who  was  holding 
his  mamma's  skirt  (and  who  stopped  the  procession  to 
look  at  the  largest  footman,  whose  appearance  seemed 
to  strike  the  young  gentleman ) ,  and  Miss  Blandy,  gov- 
erness to  Master  Francis,  and  Miss  Amory,  her  lady- 
ship's daughter,  giving  her  arm  to  Captain  Strong.  It 
was  summer,  but  fires  of  welcome  were  crackling  in  the 


PENDENNIS  343 

great  hall  chimney,  and  in  the  rooms  which  the  family 
were  to  occupy. 

Monsieur  Mirobolant  had  looked  at  the  procession 
from  one  of  the  lime-trees  in  the  avenue.  "  Elle  est  la," 
he  said,  laying  his  jewelled  hand  on  his  richly-embroid- 
ered velvet  waiscoat  with  glass  buttons,  "  Je  t'ai  vue; 
je  te  benis,  O  ma  sylphide,  O  mon  ange!  "  and  he  dived 
into  the  thicket,  and  made  his  way  back  to  his  furnaces 
and  saucepans. 

The  next  Sunday  the  same  party  which  had  just 
made  its  appearance  at  Clavering  Park,  came  and  pub- 
licly took  possession  of  the  ancient  pew  in  the  church, 
where  so  many  of  the  baronet's  ancestors  had  prayed, 
and  were  now  kneeling  in  effigy.  There  was  such  a  run 
to  see  the  new  folks,  that  the  Low  Church  was  deserted, 
to  the  disgust  of  its  pastor;  and  as  the  state  barouche, 
with  the  greys  and  coachman  in  silver  wig,  and  solemn 
footmen,  drew  up  at  the  old  church-yard  gate,  there  was 
such  a  crowd  assembled  there  as  had  not  been  seen  for 
many  a  long  day.  Captain  Strong  knew  everybody,  and 
saluted  for  all  the  company.  The  country  people  vowed 
my  lady  was  not  handsome,  to  be  sure,  but  pronounced 
her  to  be  uncommon  fine  dressed,  as  indeed  she  was— 
with  the  finest  of  shawls,  the  finest  of  pelisses,  the  bril- 
liantest  of  bonnets  and  wreaths,  and  a  power  of  rings, 
cameos,  brooches,  chains,  bangles,  and  other  nameless 
gimcracks;  and  ribbons  of  every  breadth  and  colour  of 
the  rainbow  flaming  on  her  person.  Miss  Amory  ap- 
peared meek  in  dove-colour,  like  a  vestal  virgin— while 
Master  Francis  was  in  the  costume  then  prevalent  of 
Rob  Roy  Macgregor,  a  celebrated  Highland  outlaw. 
The  baronet  was  not  more  animated  than  ordinarily— 
there  was  a  happy  vacuity  about  him  which  enabled  him 


344  PENDENNIS 

to  face  a  dinner,  a  death,  a  church,  a  marriage,  with  the 
same  indifferent  ease. 

A  pew  for  the  Clavering  servants  was  filled  by  these 
domestics,  and  the  enraptured  congregation  saw  the  gen- 
tlemen from  London  with  "  vlower  on  their  heeds,"  and 
the  miraculous  coachman  with  his  silver  wig,  take  their 
places  in  that  pew  so  soon  as  his  horses  were  put  up  at 
the  Clavering  Arms. 

In  the  course  of  the  service,  Master  Francis  began  to 
make  such  a  yelling  in  the  pew,  that  Frederic,  the  tall- 
est of  the  footmen,  was  beckoned  by  his  master,  and  rose 
and  went  and  carried  out  Master  Francis,  who  roared 
and  beat  him  on  the  head,  so  that  the  powder  flew  round 
about,  like  clouds  of  incense.  Nor  was  he  pacified  until 
placed  on  the  box  of  the  carriage,  where  he  played  at 
horses  with  John's  whip. 

'  You  see  the  little  beggar's  never  been  to  church  be- 
fore, Miss  Bell,"  the  baronet  drawled  out  to  a  young  lady 
who  was  visiting  him;  "no  wonder  he  should  make  a  row: 
I  don't  go  in  town  neither,  but  I  think  it's  right  in  the 
country  to  give  a  good  example — and  that  sort  of  thing." 

Miss  Bell  laughed  and  said,  "  The  little  boy  had  not 
given  a  particularly  good  example." 

"  Gad,  I  don't  know,"  said  the  baronet.  ;'  It  ain't  so 
bad  neither.  Whenever  he  wants  a  thing,  Frank  always 
cwies,  and  whenever  he  cwies  he  gets  it." 

Here  the  child  in  question  began  to  howl  for  a  dish  of 
sweetmeats  on  the  luncheon  table,  and  making  a  lunge 
across  the  table-cloth,  upset  a  glass  of  wine  over  the  best 
waistcoat  of  one  of  the  guests  present,  Mr.  Arthur  Pen- 
dennis,  who  was  greatly  annoyed  at  being  made  to  look 
foolish;  and  at  having  his  spotless  cambric  shirt  front 
blotched  with  wine. 


Master  Francis  in  a 
state  of  revolt 


PENDENNIS  345 

"  We  do  spoil  him  so,"  said  Lady  Clavering  to  Mrs. 
Pendennis,  fondly  gazing  at  the  cherub,  whose  hands 
and  face  were  now  frothed  over  with  the  species  of  lather 
which  is  inserted  in  the  confection  called  meringues  a  la 
creme. 

"  Gad,  I  was  quite  wight,"  said  the  baronet.  "  He  has 
cwied,  and  he  has  got  it,  you  see.  Go  it,  Fwank,  old 
boy." 

"  Sir  Francis  is  a  very  judicious  parent,"  Miss  Amory 
whispered.  "  Don't  you  think  so,  Miss  Bell?  I  shan't 
call  you  Miss  Bell — I  shall  call  you  Laura.  I  admired 
you  so  at  church.  Your  robe  was  not  well  made,  nor 
your  bonnet  very  fresh.  But  you  have  such  beautiful 
grey  eyes,  and  such  a  lovely  tint." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Miss  Bell,  laughing. 

"  Your  cousin  is  handsome,  and  thinks  so.  He  is  un- 
easy de  sa  personne.  He  has  not  seen  the  world  yet. 
Has  he  genius?  Has  he  suffered?  A  lady,  a  little 
woman  in  a  rumpled  satin  and  velvet  shoes — a  Miss 
Pybus — came  here,  and  said  he  has  suffered.  I,  too, 
have  suffered, — and  you,  Laura,  has  your  heart  ever 
been  touched? " 

Laura  said  "  No!  "  but  perhaps  blushed  a  little  at  the 
idea  or  the  question,  so  that  the  other  said, — 

"Ah,  Laura!  I  see  it  all.  It  is  the  beau  cousin.  Tell 
me  everything.  I  already  love  you  as  a  sister." 

*  You  are  very  kind,"  said  Miss  Bell,  smiling,  "  and — 
and  it  must  be  owned  that  it  is  a  very  sudden  attach- 
ment." 

"  All  attachments  are  so.  It  is  electricity— sponta- 
neity. It  is  instantaneous.  I  knew  I  should  love  you 
from  the  moment  I  saw  you.  Do  you  not  feel  it  your- 
self?" 


346  PENDENNlS 

"  Not  yet,"  said  Laura;  "  but  I  dare  say  I  shall  if  I 
try." 

"  Call  me  by  my  name,  then." 

"  But  I  don't  know  it,"  Laura  cried  out. 

"  My  name  is  Blanche — isn't  it  a  pretty  name?  Call 
me  by  it." 

"  Blanche — it  is  very  pretty,  indeed." 

"  And  while  mamma  talks  with  that  kind-looking  lady 
—what  relation  is  she  to  you?  She  must  have  been 
pretty  once,  but  is  rather  passee;  she  is  not  well  gantee, 
but  she  has  a  pretty  hand — and  while  mamma  talks  to 
her,  come  with  me  to  my  own  room,— my  own,  own  room. 
It's  a  darling  room,  though  that  horrid  creature,  Captain 
Strong,  did  arrange  it.  Are  you  epris  of  him?  He  says 
you  are,  but  I  know  better ;  it  is  the  beau  cousin.  Yes— 
il  a  de  beaux  yeux.  Je  naime  pas  les  blonds,  ordinaire- 
ment.  Car  je  suis  blonde  moi—je  suis  Blanche  et 
blonde," — and  she  looked  at  her  face  and  made  a  moue 
in  the  glass;  and  never  stopped  for  Laura's  answer  to 
the  questions  which  she  had  put. 

Blanche  was  fair,  and  like  a  sylph.  She  had  fair 
hair,  with  green  reflections  in  it.  But  she  had  dark 
eyebrows.  She  had  long  black  eyelashes,  which  veiled 
beautiful  brown  eyes.  She  had  such  a  slim  waist,  that 
it  was  a  wonder  to  behold ;  and  such  slim  little  feet,  that 
you  would  have  thought  the  grass  would  hardly  bend 
under  them.  Her  lips  were  of  the  colour  of  faint  rose- 
buds, and  her  voice  warbled  limpidly  over  a  set  of  the 
sweetest  little  pearly  teeth  ever  seen.  She  showed  them 
very  often,  for  they  were  very  pretty.  She  was  always 
smiling,  and  a  smile  not  only  showed  her  teeth  wonder- 
fully, but  likewise  exhibited  two  lovely  little  pink 
dimples,  that  nestled  in  either  cheek. 


PENDENNIS  347 

She  showed  Laura  her  drawings,  which  the  other 
thought  charming.  She  played  her  some  of  her  waltzes, 
with  a  rapid  and  brilliant  finger,  and  Laura  was  still 
more  charmed.  And  she  then  read  her  some  poems,  in 
French  and  English,  likewise  of  her  own  composition, 
and  which  she  kept  locked  in  her  own  book — her  own 
dear  little  book ;  it  was  bound  in  blue  velvet,  with  a  gilt 
lock,  and  on  it  was  printed  in  gold  the  title  of  "  Mes 
Larmes." 

"  Mes  Larmes! — isn't  it  a  pretty  name? "  the  young 
lady  continued,  who  was  pleased  with  everything  that 
she  did,  and  did  everything  very  well.  Laura  owned 
that  it  was.  She  had  never  seen  anything  like  it  before ; 
anything  so  lovely,  so  accomplished,  so  fragile  and 
pretty;  warbling  so  prettily,  and  tripping  about  such 
a  pretty  room,  with  such  a  number  of  pretty  books,  pic- 
tures, flowers,  round  about  her.  The  honest  and  gen- 
erous country  girl  forgot  even  jealousy  in  her  admira- 
tion. "  Indeed,  Blanche,"  she  said,  "  everything  in  the 
room  is  pretty;  and  you  are  the  prettiest  of  all."  The 
other  smiled,  looked  in  the  glass,  went  up  and  took  both 
of  Laura's  hands,  and  kissed  them,  and  sat  down  to 
the  piano,  and  shook  out  a  little  song. 

The  intimacy  between  the  young  ladies  sprang  up 
like  Jack's  Bean-stalk  to  the  skies  in  a  single  night.  The 
large  footmen  were  perpetually  walking  with  little  pink 
notes  to  Fairoaks;  where  there  was  a  pretty  housemaid 
in  the  kitchen,  who  might  possibly  tempt  those  gentle- 
men to  so  humble  a  place.  Miss  Amory  sent  music,  or 
Miss  Amory  sent  a  new  novel,  or  a  picture  from  the 
"Journal  des  Modes,"  to  Laura;  or  my  lady's  com- 
pliments arrived  with  flowers  and  fruit ;  or  Miss  Amory 
begged  and  prayed  Miss  Bell  to  come  to  dinner;  and 


348  PENDENNIS 

dear  Mrs.  Pendennis,  if  she  was  strong  enough;  and 
Mr.  Arthur,  if  a  humdrum  party  were  not  too  stupid 
for  him;  and  would  send  a  pony-carriage  for  Mrs.  Pen- 
dennis; and  would  take  no  denial. 

Neither  Arthur  nor  Laura  wished  to  refuse.  And 
Helen,  who  was,  indeed,  somewhat  ailing,  was  glad  that 
the  two  should  have  their  pleasure;  and  would  look 
at  them  fondly  as  they  set  forth,  and  ask  in  her  heart 
that  she  might  not  be  called  away  until  those  two  beings 
whom  she  loved  best  in  the  world  should  be  joined  to- 
gether. As  they  went  out  and  crossed  over  the  bridge, 
she  remembered  summer  evenings  five-and-twenty  years 
ago,  when  she,  too,  had  bloomed  in  her  brief  prime  of  love 
and  happiness.  It  was  all  over  now.  The  moon  was 
looking  from  the  purpling  sky,  and  the  stars  glittering 
there,  just  as  they  used  in  the  early  well-remembered 
evenings.  He  was  lying  dead  far  away,  with  the  bil- 
lows rolling  between  them.  Good  God!  how  well  she 
remembered  the  last  look  of  his  face  as  they  parted. 
It  looked  out  at  her  through  the  vista  of  long  years,  as 
sad  and  as  clear  as  then. 

So  Mr.  Pen  and  Miss  Laura  found  the  society  at 
Clavering  Park  an  uncommonly  agreeable  resort  of  sum- 
mer evenings.  Blanche  vowed  that  she  raffoled  of 
Laura;  and,  very  likely,  Mr.  Pen  was  pleased  with 
Blanche.  His  spirits  came  back :  he  laughed  and  rattled 
till  Laura  wondered  to  hear  him.  It  was  not  the  same 
Pen,  yawning  in  a  shooting- jacket,  in  the  Fairoaks 
parlour,  who  appeared  alert  and  brisk,  and  smiling,  and 
well  dressed,  in  Lady  Clavering's  drawing-room.  Some- 
times they  had  music.  Laura  had  a  sweet  contralto 
voice,  and  sang  with  Blanche,  who  had  had  the  best  of 


Mr.  Pea  begins 
to  be  consoled 


PENDENNIS  349 

continental  instruction,  and  was  charmed  to  be  her 
friend's  mistress.  Sometimes  Mr.  Pen  joined  in  these 
concerts,  or  oftener  looked  sweet  upon  Miss  Blanche  as 
she  sang.  Sometimes  they  had  glees,  when  Captain 
Strong's  chest  was  of  vast  service,  and  he  boomed  out 
in  a  prodigious  bass,  of  which  he  was  not  a  little  proud. 

"Good  fellow,  Strong— ain't  he,  Miss  Bell?"  Sir 
Francis  would  say  to  her.  "  Plays  at  ecarte  with  Lady 
Clavering — plays  anything,  pitch  and  toss,  pianoforty, 
cwibbage  if  you  like.  How  long  do  you  think  he's  been 
staying  with  me?  He  came  for  a  week  with  a  carpet- 
bag, and  gad,  he's  been  staying  thwee  years.  Good  fel- 
low, ain't  he  ?  Don't  know  how  he  gets  a  shillin',  though, 
by  Jove  I  don't,  Miss  Lauwa." 

And  yet  the  Chevalier,  if  he  lost  his  money  to  Lady 
Clavering,  always  paid  it ;  and  if  he  lived  with  his  friend 
for  three  years,  paid  for  that  too — in  good  humour,  in 
kindness  and  joviality,  in  a  thousand  little  services  by 
which  he  made  himself  agreeable.  What  gentleman 
could  want  a  better  friend  than  a  man  who  was  always 
in  spirits,  never  in  the  way  or  out  of  it,  and  was  ready 
to  execute  any  commission  for  his  patron,  whether  it 
was  to  sing  a  song  or  meet  a  lawyer,  to  fight  a  duel,  or 
to  carve  a  capon? 

Although  Laura  and  Pen  commonly  went  to  Claver- 
ing Park  together,  yet  sometimes  Mr.  Pen  took  walks 
there  unattended  by  her,  and  about  which  he  did  not 
tell  her.  He  took  to  fishing  the  Brawl,  which  runs 
through  the  Park,  and  passes  not  very  far  from  the  gar- 
den-wall; and  by  the  oddest  coincidence,  Miss  Amory 
would  walk  out  (having  been  to  look  at  her  flowers) ,  and 
would  be  quite  surprised  to  see  Mr.  Pendennis  fishing. 

I  wonder  what  trout  Pen  caught  while  the  young  lady 


350 


PENDENNIS 


was  looking  on?  or  whether  Miss  Blanche  was  the  pretty 
little  fish  which  played  round  his  fly,  and  which  Mr.  Pen 
was  endeavouring  to  hook  ? 

As  for  Miss  Blanche,  she  had  a  kind  heart ;  and  hav- 


ing,  as  she  owned,  herself  "  suffered  "  a  good  deal  in 
the  course  of  her  brief  life  and  experience — why,  she 
could  compassionate  other  susceptible  beings  like  Pen, 
who  had  suffered  too.  Her  love  for  Laura  and  that  dear 
Mrs.  Pendennis  redoubled :  if  they  were  not  at  the  Park, 
she  was  not  easy  unless  she  herself  was  at  Fairoaks.  She 


PENDENNIS  351 

played  with  Laura;  she  read  French  and  German  with 
Laura;  and  Mr.  Pen  read  French  and  German  along 
with  them.  He  turned  sentimental  ballads  of  Schiller 
and  Goethe  into  English  verse  for  the  ladies,  and 
Blanche  unlocked  "  Mes  Larmes  "  for  him,  and  im- 
parted to  him  some  of  the  plaintive  outpourings  of  her 
own  tender  Muse. 

It  appeared  from  these  poems  that  the  young  creature 
had  indeed  suffered  prodigiously.  She  was  familiar 
with  the  idea  of  suicide.  Death  she  repeatedly  longed 
for.  A  faded  rose  inspired  her  with  such  grief  that  you 
would  have  thought  she  must  die  in  pain  of  it.  It  was 
a  wonder  how  a  young  creature  should  have  suffered  so 
much — should  have  found  the  means  of  getting  at  such 
an  ocean  of  despair  and  passion  ( as  a  run-away  boy  who 
will  get  to  sea) ,  and  having  embarked  on  it,  should  sur- 
vive it.  What  a  talent  she  must  have  had  for  weeping 
to  be  able  to  pour  out  so  many  of  "  Mes  Larmes!  " 

They  were  not  particularly  briny,  Miss  Blanche's 
tears,  that  is  the  truth;  but  Pen,  who  read  her  verses, 
thought  them  very  well  for  a  lady— and  wrote  some 
verses  himself  for  her.  His  were  very  violent  and  pas- 
sionate, very  hot,  sweet,  and  strong:  and  he  not  only 
wrote  verses;  but — O,  the  villain!  O,  the  deceiver!  he 
altered  and  adapted  former  poems  in  his  possession,  and 
which  had  been  composed  for  a  certain  Miss  Emily 
Fotheringay,  for  the  use  and  to  the  Christian  name  of 
Miss  Blanche  Amory. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 


A  LITTLE  INNOCENT 

£IAD,  Strong,"  one  day  the  Baronet 
said,  as  the  pair  were  conversing 
after  dinner  over  the  billiard- 
table,  and  that  great  unbosomer 
of  secrets,  a  cigar;   "Egad, 
Strong,  1  wish  to  the  doose 
your  wife  was  dead." 

"So  do  I.  That's  a 
cannon,  by  Jove!  But 
she  won't;  she'll  live  for 
ever — you  see  if  she 
don't.  Why  do  you  wish 
her  off  the  hooks,  Frank, 
my  boy?  "  asked  Captain  Strong. 

"  Because  then  you  might  marry  Missy.  She  ain't 
bad-looking.  She'll  have  ten  thousand,  and  that's  a  good 
bit  of  money  for  such  a  poor  old  devil  as  you,"  drawled 
out  the  other  gentleman.  "  And  egad,  Strong,  I  hate 
her  worse  and  worse  every  day.  I  can't  stand  her, 
Strong;  by  gad,  I  can't." 

'  I  wouldn't  take  her  at  twice  the  figure,"  Captain 
Strong  said,  laughing.  !<  I  never  saw  such  a  little  devil 
in  my  life." 

'  I  should  like  to  poison  her,"  said  the  sententious 
Baronet;  "  by  Jove  I  should." 

352 


PENDENNIS  353 

'  Why,  what  has  she  been  at  now? "  asked  his  friend. 

"  Nothing  particular,"  answered  Sir  Francis;  "  only 
her  old  tricks.  That  girl  has  such  a  knack  of  making 
everybody  miserable  that,  hang  me,  it's  quite  surprising. 
Last  night  she  sent  the  governess  crying  away  from  the 
dinner-table.  Afterwards,  as  I  was  passing  Frank's 
room,  I  heard  the  poor  little  beggar  howling  in  the  dark, 
and  found  his  sister  had  been  frightening  his  soul  out 
of  his  body,  by  telling  him  stories  about  the  ghost  that's 
in  the  house.  At  lunch  she  gave  my  lady  a  turn;  and 
though  my  wife's  a  fool,  she's  a  good  soul — I'm  hanged 
if  she  ain't." 

"  What  did  Missy  do  to  her?  "  Strong  asked. 

"  Why,  hang  me,  if  she  didn't  begin  talking  about  the 
late  Amory,  my  predecessor,"  the  Baronet  said,  with  a 
grin.  "  She  got  some  picture  out  of  '  the  Keepsake,'  and 
said,  she  was  sure  it  was  like  her  dear  father.  She  wanted 
to  know  where  her  father's  grave  was.  Hang  her  father ! 
Whenever  Miss  Amory  talks  about  him,  Lady  Claver- 
ing  always  bursts  out  crying:  and  the  little  devil  will 
talk  about  him  in  order  to  spite  her  mother.  To-day 
when  she  began,  I  got  in  a  confounded  rage,  said  I  was 
her  father,  and — and  that  sort  of  thing,  and  then,  sir, 
she  took  a  shy  at  me." 

"  And  what  did  she  say  about  you,  Frank? "  Mr. 
Strong,  still  laughing,  inquired  of  his  friend  and  patron. 

"  Gad,  she  said  I  wasn't  her  father;  that  I  wasn't  fit  to 
comprehend  her ;  that  her  father  must  have  been  a  man 
of  genius,  and  fine  feelings,  and  that  sort  of  thing; 
whereas  I  had  married  her  mother  for  money." 

"  Well,  didn't  you?  "  asked  Strong. 

"  It  don't  make  it  any  the  pleasanter  to  hear  because 
it's  true,  don't  you  know,"  Sir  Francis  Clavering  an- 


354  PENDENNIS 

swered.  "  I  ain't  a  literary  man  and  that ;  but  I  ain't 
such  a  fool  as  she  makes  me  out.  I  don't  know  how  it  is, 
but  she  always  manages  to— to  put  me  in  the  hole,  don't 
you  understand.  She  turns  all  the  house  round  her  in 
her  quiet  way,  and  with  her  confounded  sentimental 
airs.  I  wish  she  was  dead,  Ned." 

"  It  was  my  wife  whom  you  wanted  dead  just  now," 
Strong  said,  always  in  perfect  good  humour;  upon 
which  the  Baronet,  with  his  accustomed  candour,  said, 
'  Well,  when  people  bore  my  life  out,  I  do  wish  they 
were  dead,  and  I  wish  Missy  were  down  a  well  with  all 
my  heart." 

Thus  it  will  be  seen  from  the  above  report  of  this  can- 
did conversation  that  our  accomplished  little  friend  had 
some  peculiarities  or  defects  of  character  which  rendered 
her  not  very  popular.  She  was  a  young  lady  of  some 
genius,  exquisite  sympathies  and  considerable  literary 
attainments,  living,  like  many  another  genius,  with 
relatives  who  could  not  comprehend  her.  Neither  her 
mother  nor  her  stepfather  were  persons  of  a  literary 
turn.  "  Bell's  Life  "  and  the  "  Racing  Calendar  "  were 
the  extent  of  the  Baronet's  reading,  and  Lady  Clavering 
still  wrote  like  a  school-girl  of  thirteen,  and  with  an 
extraordinary  disregard  to  grammar  and  spelling.  And 
as  Miss  Amory  felt  very  keenly  that  she  was  not  appre- 
ciated, and  that  she  lived  with  persons  who  were  not  her 
equals  in  intellect  or  conversational  power,  she  lost  no 
opportunity  to  acquaint  her  family  circle  with  their  in- 
feriority to  herself,  and  not  only  was  a  martyr,  but  took 
care  to  let  everybody  know  that  she  was  so.  If  she  suf- 
fered, as  she  said  and  thought  she  did,  severely,  are  we 
to  wonder  that  a  young  creature  of  such  delicate  sensi- 
bilities should  shriek  and  cry  out  a  good  deal?  If  a 


PENDENNIS  355 

poetess  may  not  bemoan  her  lot,  of  what  earthly  use  is 
her  lyre?  Blanche  struck  hers  only  to  the  saddest  of 
tunes ;  and  sang  elegies  over  her  dead  hopes,  dirges  over 
her  early  frost-nipt  buds  of  affection,  as  became  such  a 
melancholy  fate  and  Muse. 

Her  actual  distresses,  as  we  have  said,  had  not  been  up 
to  the  present  time  very  considerable:  but  her  griefs 
lay,  like  those  of  most  of  us,  in  her  own  soul — that  being 
sad  and  habitually  dissatisfied,  what  wonder  that  she 
should  weep?  So  "  Mes  Larmes  "  dribbled  out  of  her 
eyes  any  day  at  command:  she  could  furnish  an  unlim- 
ited supply  of  tears,  and  her  faculty  of  shedding  them 
increased  by  practice.  For  sentiment  is  like  another 
complaint  mentioned  by  Horace,  as  increasing  by  self- 
indulgence  ( I  am  sorry  to  say,  ladies,  that  the  complaint 
in  question  is  called  the  dropsy),  and  the  more  you  cry, 
the  more  you  will  be  able  and  desirous  to  do  so. 

Missy  had  begun  to  gush  at  a  very  early  age.  Lamar- 
tine  was  her  favourite  bard  from  the  period  when  she 
first  could  feel ;  and  she  had  subsequently  improved  her 
mind  by  a  sedulous  study  of  novels  of  the  great  modern 
authors  of  the  French  language.  There  was  not  a  ro- 
mance of  Balzac  and  George  Sand  which  the  indefatiga- 
ble little  creature  had  not  devoured  by  the  time  she  was 
sixteen:  and,  however  little  she  sympathised  with  her 
relatives  at  home,  she  had  friends,  as  she  said,  in  the 
spirit-world,  meaning  the  tender  Indiana,  the  passion- 
ate and  poetic  Lelia,  the  amiable  Trenmor,  that  high- 
souled  convict,  that  angel  of  the  galleys, — the  fiery 
Stenio, — and  the  other  numberless  heroes  of  the  French 
romances.  She  had  been  in  love  with  Prince  Rodolph 
and  Prince  Djalma  while  she  was  yet  at  school,  and 
had  settled  the  divorce  question,  and  the  rights  of  woman, 


356  PENDENNIS 

with  Indiana,  before  she  had  left  off  pinafores.  The  im- 
petuous little  lady  played  at  love  with  these  imaginary 
worthies,  as  a  little  while  before  she  had  played  at  ma- 
ternity with  her  doll.  Pretty  little  poetical  spirits  I  it 
is  curious  to  watch  them  with  those  playthings.  To-day 
the  blue-eyed  one  is  the  favourite,  and  the  black -eyed 
one  is  pushed  behind  the  drawers.  To-morrow  blue-eyes 
may  take  its  turn  of  neglect:  and  it  may  be  an  odious 
little  wretch  with  a  burnt  nose,  or  torn  head  of  hair,  and 
no  eyes  at  all,  that  takes  the  first  place  in  Miss's  affec- 
tion, and  is  dandled  and  caressed  in  her  arms. 

As  novelists  are  supposed  to  know  everything,  even 
the  secrets  of  female  hearts,  which  the  owners  themselves 
do  not  perhaps  know,  we  may  state  that  at  eleven  years 
of  age  Mademoiselle  Betsi,  as  Miss  Amory  was  then 
called,  had  felt  tender  emotions  towards  a  young  Savoy- 
ard organ-grinder  at  Paris,  whom  she  persisted  in  believ- 
ing to  be  a  prince  carried  off  from  his  parents;  that  at 
twelve  an  old  and  hideous  drawing-master —  (but,  ah, 
what  age  or  personal  defects  are  proof  against  woman's 
love?)  had  agitated  her  young  heart;  and  that,  at  thir- 
teen, being  at  Madame  de  Carmel's  boarding-school,  in 
the  Champs  Elysees,  which,  as  everybody  knows,  is  next 
door  to  Monsieur  Rogron's  (Chevalier  of  the  Legion  of 
Honour)  pension  for  young  gentlemen,  a  correspon- 
dence by  letter  took  place  between  the  seduisante  Miss 
Betsi  and  two  young  gentlemen  of  the  College  of  Charle- 
magne, who  were  pensioners  of  the  Chevalier  Rogron. 

In  the  above  paragraph  our  young  friend  has  been 
called  by  a  Christian  name,  different  to  that  under  which 
we  were  lately  presented  to  her.  The  fact  is,  that  Miss 
Amory,  called  Missy  at  home,  had  really  at  the  first  been 
christened  Betsy— but  assumed  the  name  of  Blanche  of 


PENDENNIS  357 

her  own  will  and  fantasy,  and  crowned  herself  with  it; 
and  the  weapon  which  the  Baronet,  her  stepfather,  held 
in  terror  over  her,  was  the  threat  to  call  her  publicly  by 
her  name  of  Betsy,  by  which  menace  he  sometimes  man- 
aged to  keep  the  young  rebel  in  order. 

Blanche  had  had  hosts  of  dear,  dear,  darling  friends 
ere  now,  and  had  quite  a  little  museum  of  locks  of  hair 
in  her  treasure-chest,  which  she  had  gathered  in  the 
course  of  her  sentimental  progress.  Some  dear  friends 
had  married:  some  had  gone  to  other  schools:  one  be- 
loved sister  she  had  lost  from  the  pension,  and  found 
again,  O,  horror!  her  darling,  her  Leocadie,  keeping 
the  books  in  her  father's  shop,  a  grocer  in  the  Rue  du 
Bac :  in  fact,  she  had  met  with  a  number  of  disappoint- 
ments, estrangements,  disillusionments,  as  she  called 
them  in  her  pretty  French  jargon,  and  had  seen  and 
suffered  a  great  deal  for  so  young  a  woman.  But  it  is 
the  lot  of  sensibility  to  suffer,  and  of  confiding  tender- 
ness to  be  deceived,  and  she  felt  that  she  was  only  under- 
going the  penalties  of  genius  in  these  pangs  and  disap- 
pointments of  her  young  career. 

Meanwhile,  she  managed  to  make  the  honest  lady,  her 
mother,  as  uncomfortable  as  circumstances  would  per- 
mit ;  and  caused  her  worthy  stepfather  to  wish  she  was 
dead.  With  the  exception  of  Captain  Strong,  whose 
invincible  good  humour  was  proof  against  her  sarcasms, 
the  little  lady  ruled  the  whole  house  with  her  tongue. 
If  Lady  Clavering  talked  about  Sparrowgrass  instead 
of  Asparagus,  or  called  an  object  a  hobject,  as  this  un- 
fortunate lady  would  sometimes  do,  Missy  calmly  cor- 
rected her,  and  frightened  the  good  soul,  her  mother, 
into  errors  only  the  more  frequent  as  she  grew  more 
nervous  under  her  daughter's  eye. 


358  PENDENNIS 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed,  considering  the  vast  interest 
which  the  arrival  of  the  family  at  Clavering  Park  in- 
spired in  the  inhabitants  of  the  little  town,  that  Madame 
Fribsby  alone,  of  all  the  folks  in  Clavering,  should  have 
remained  unmoved  and  incurious.  At  the  first  appear- 
ance of  the  Park  family  in  church,  Madame  noted  every 
article  of  toilette  which  the  ladies  wore,  from  their  bon- 
nets to  their  brodequins,  and  took  a  survey  of  the  attire 
of  the  ladies'  maids  in  the  pew  allotted  to  them.  We 
fear  that  Doctor  Portman's  sermon,  though  it  was  one 
of  his  oldest  and  most  valued  compositions,  had  little 
effect  upon  Madame  Fribsby  on  that  day.  In  a  very 
few  days  afterwards,  she  had  managed  for  herself  an 
interview  with  Lady  Clavering's  confidential  attendant, 
in  the  housekeeper's  room  at  the  Park ;  and  her  cards  in 
French  and  English,  stating  that  she  received  the  newest 
fashions  from  Paris  from  her  correspondent  Madame 
Victorine,  and  that  she  was  in  the  custom  of  making 
court  and  ball  dresses  for  the  nobility  and  gentry  of  the 
shire,  were  in  the  possession  of  Lady  Clavering  and  Miss 
Amory,  and  favourably  received,  as  she  was  happy  to 
hear,  by  those  ladies. 

Mrs.  Bonner,  Lady  Clavering's  lady,  became  soon 
a  great  frequenter  of  Madame  Fribsby's  drawing-room, 
and  partook  of  many  entertainments  at  the  milliner's  ex- 
pense. A  meal  of  green  tea,  scandal,  hot  Sally-Lunn 
cakes,  and  a  little  novel  reading,  were  always  at  the 
service  of  Mrs.  Bonner,  whenever  she  was  free  to  pass 
an  evening  in  the  town.  And  she  found  much  more  time 
for  these  pleasures  than  her  junior  officer,  Miss  Amory's 
maid,  who  seldom  could  be  sp'ared  for  a  holiday,  and 
was  worked  as  hard  as  any  factory  girl  by  that  inexorable 
little  Muse,  her  mistress. 


PENDENNIS  859 

And  there  was  another  person  connected  with  the 
Clavering  establishment,  who  became  a  constant  guest 
of  our  friend,  the  milliner.  This  was  the  chief  of  the 
kitchen,  Monsieur  Mirobolant,  with  whom  Madame 
Fribsby  soon  formed  an  intimacy. 

Not  having  been  accustomed  to  the  appearance  or 
society  of  persons  of  the  French  nation,  the  rustic  in- 
habitants of  Clavering  were  not  so  favourably  impressed 
by  Monsieur  Alcide's  manners  and  appearance,  as  that 
gentleman  might  have  desired  that  they  should  be.  He 
walked  among  them  quite  unsuspiciously  upon  the  after- 
noon of  a  summer  day,  when  his  services  were  not  re- 
quired at  the  House,  in  his  usual  favourite  costume, 
namely,  his  light  green  frock  or  paletot,  his  crimson 
velvet  waistcoat,  with  blue  glass  buttons,  his  pantalon 
Ecossais,  of  a  very  large  and  decided  check  pattern,  his 
orange  satin  neck-cloth,  and  his  jean -boots,  with  tips  of 
shiny  leather, — these,  with  a  gold  embroidered  cap,  and 
a  richly-gilt  cane,  or  other  varieties  of  ornament  of  a 
similar  tendency,  formed  his  usual  holiday  costume,  in 
which  he  flattered  himself  there  was  nothing  remarkable 
(unless,  indeed,  the  beauty  of  his  person  should  attract 
observation),  and  in  which  he  considered  that  he  exhib- 
ited the  appearance  of  a  gentleman  of  good  Parisian 
ton. 

He  walked  then  down  the  street,  grinning  and  ogling 
every  woman  he  met  with  glances,  which  he  meant  should 
kill  them  outright,  and  peered  over  the  railings,  and  in 
at  the  windows,  where  females  were,  in  the  tranquil 
summer  evening.  But  Betsy,  Mrs.  Pybus's  maid,  shrank 
back  with  a  "  Lor'  bless  us! "  as  Alcide  ogled  her  over 
the  laurel  bush;  the  Misses  Baker,  and  their  mamma, 
stared  with  wonder;  and  presently  a  crowd  began  to 


360  PENDENNIS 

follow  the  interesting  foreigner,  of  ragged  urchins  and 
children,  who  left  their  dirt-pies  in  the  street  to  pursue 
him. 

For  some  time  he  thought  that  admiration  was  the 
cause  which  led  these  persons  in  his  wake,  and  walked 
on,  pleased  himself  that  he  could  so  easily  confer  on 
others  so  much  harmless  pleasure.  But  the  little  children 
and  dirt-pie  manufacturers  were  presently  succeeded 
by  followers  of  a  larger  growth,  and  a  number  of  lads 
and  girls  from  the  factory  being  let  loose  at  this  hour, 
joined  the  mob,  and  began  laughing,  jeering,  hooting, 
and  calling  opprobrious  names  at  the  Frenchman.  Some 
cried  out,  "  Frenchy!  Frenchy!"  some  exclaimed, 
"  Frogs!  "  one  asked  for  a  lock  of  his  hair,  which  was 
long  and  in  richly -flowing  ringlets;  and  at  length  the 
poor  artist  began  to  perceive  that  he  was  an  object  of 
derision  rather  than  of  respect  to  the  rude  grinning  mob. 

It  was  at  this  juncture  that  Madame  Fribsby  spied 
the  unlucky  gentleman  with  the  train  at  his  heels,  and 
heard  the  scornful  shouts  with  which  they  assailed  him. 
She  ran  out  of  her  room,  and  across  the  street  to  the  per- 
secuted foreigner;  she  held  out  her  hand,  and,  address- 
ing him  in  his  own  language,  invited  him  into  her  abode ; 
and  when  she  had  housed  him  fairly  within  her  door,  she 
stood  bravely  at  the  threshold  before  the  gibing  factory 
girls  and  boys,  and  said  they  were  a  pack  of  cowards 
to  insult  a  poor  man  who  could  not  speak  their  language, 
and  was  alone  and  without  protection.  The  little  crowd, 
with  some  ironical  cheers  and  hootings,  nevertheless  felt 
the  force  of  Madame  Fribsby's  vigorous  allocution,  and 
retreated  before  her;  for  the  old  lady  was  rather  re- 
spected in  the  place,  and  her  oddity  and  her  kindness 
had  made  her  many  friends  there. 


Mirobolant  fascinates 
the  natives 


PENDENNIS  361 

Poor  Mirobolant  was  grateful  indeed  to  hear  the  lan- 
guage of  his  country  ever  so  ill  spoken.  Frenchmen 
pardon  our  faults  in  their  language  much  more  readily 
than  we  excuse  their  bad  English;  and  will  face  our 
blunders  throughout  a  long  conversation,  without  the 
least  propensity  to  grin.  The  rescued  artist  vowed  that 
Madame  Fribsby  was  his  guardian  angel,  and  that  he 
had  not  as  yet  met  with  such  suavity  and  politeness 
among  les  Anglaises.  He  was  as  courteous  and  compli- 
mentary to  her  as  if  it  was  the  fairest  and  noblest  of 
ladies  whom  he  was  addressing :  for  Alcide  Mirobolant 
paid  homage  after  his  fashion  to  all  womankind,  and 
never  dreamed  of  a  distinction  of  ranks  in  the  realms  of 
beauty,  as  his  phrase  was. 

A  cream,  flavoured  with  pine-apple — a  mayonnaise  of 
lobster,  which  he  flattered  himself  was  not  unworthy  of 
his  hand,  or  of  her  to  whom  he  had  the  honour  to  offer  it 
as  an  homage,  and  a  box  of  preserved  fruits  of  Provence, 
were  brought  by  one  of  the  chef's  aides-de-camp,  in  a 
basket,  the  next  day  to  the  milliner's,  and  were  ac- 
companied with  a  gallant  note  to  the  amiable  Madame 
Fribsby.  "  Her  kindness,"  Alcide  said,  "  had  made  a 
green  place  in  the  desert  of  his  existence, — her  suavity 
would  ever  contrast  in  memory  with  the  grossierete  of 
the  rustic  population,  who  were  not  worthy  to  possess 
such  a  jewel."  An  intimacy  of  the  most  confidential 
nature  thus  sprang  up  between  the  milliner  and  the  chief 
of  the  kitchen ;  but  I  do  not  know  whether  it  was  with 
pleasure  or  mortification  that  Madame  received  the  dec- 
larations of  friendship  which  the  young  Alcide  prof- 
fered to  her,  for  he  persisted  in  calling  her,  "La 
respectable  Fribsbi,"  "  La  vertueuse  Fribsbi"—and  in 
stating  that  he  should  consider  her  as  his  mother,  while 


362  PENDENNIS 

he  hoped  she  would  regard  him  as  her  son.  Ah!  it 
was  not  very  long  ago,  Fribsby  thought,  that  words  had 
been  addressed  to  her  in  that  dear  French  language,  in- 
dicating a  different  sort  of  attachment.  And  she  sighed 
as  she  looked  up  at  the  picture  of  her  Carabineer.  For 
it  is  surprising  how  young  some  people's  hearts  remain 
when  their  heads  have  need  of  a  front  or  a  little  hair-dye, 
—and,  at  this  moment,  Madame  Fribsby,  as  she  told 
young  Alcide,  felt  as  romantic  as  a  girl  of  eighteen. 

When  the  conversation  took  this  turn— and  at  their 
first  intimacy  Madame  Fribsby  was  rather  inclined  so 
to  lead  it — Alcide  always  politely  diverged  to  another 
subject:  it  was  as  his  mother  that  he  persisted  in  con- 
sidering the  good  milliner.  He  would  recognize  her  in 
no  other  capacity,  and  with  that  relationship  the  gentle 
lady  was  forced  to  content  herself,  when  she  found  how 
deeply  the  artist's  heart  was  engaged  elsewhere. 

He  was  not  long  before  he  described  to  her  the  subject 
and  origin  of  his  passion. 

"  I  declared  myself  to  her,"  said  Alcide,  laying  his 
hand  on  his  heart,  "  in  a  manner  which  was  as  novel 
as  I  am  charmed  to  think  it  was  agreeable.  Where  can- 
not Love  penetrate,  respectable  Madame  Fribsbi?  Cu- 
pid is  the  father  of  invention! — I  inquired  of  the  domes- 
tics what  were  the  plats  of  which  Mademoiselle  partook 
with  most  pleasure;  and  built  up  my  little  battery 
accordingly.  On  a  day  when  her  parents  had  gone  to 
dine  in  the  world  (and  I  am  grieved  to  say  that  a  grossier 
dinner  at  a  restaurant,  on  the  Boulevard,  or  in  the  Palais 
Royal,  seemed  to  form  the  delights  of  these  unrefined 
persons),  the  charming  Miss  entertained  some  comrades 
of  the  pension ;  and  I  advised  myself  to  send  up  a  little 
repast  suitable  to  so  delicate  young  palates.  Her  lovely 


PENDENNIS  363 

name  is  Blanche.  The  veil  of  the  maiden  is  white ;  the 
wreath  of  roses  which  she  wears  is  white.  I  determined 
that  my  dinner  should  be  as  spotless  as  the  snow.  At  her 
accustomed  hour,  and  instead  of  the  rude  gigot  a  I'eau 
which  was  ordinarily  served  at  her  too  simple  table,  I 
sent  her  up  a  little  potagc  a  la  Reine — a  la  Heine  Blanche 
I  called  it, — as  white  as  her  own  tint — and  confectioned 
with  the  most  fragrant  cream  and  almonds.  I  then  of- 
fered up  at  her  shrine  a  filet  de  merlan  a  V Agnes,  and  a 
delicate  plat,  which  I  have  designated  as  Eperlan  a  la 
Sainte  Therese,  and  of  which  my  charming  Miss  par- 
took with  pleasure.  I  followed  this  by  two  little  entrees 
of  sweet-bread  and  chicken;  and  the  only  brown  thing 
which  I  permitted  myself  in  the  entertainment  was  a 
little  roast  of  lamb,  which  I  laid  in  a  meadow  of 
spinaches,  surrounded  with  croustillons,  representing 
sheep,  and  ornamented  with  daisies  and  other  savage 
flowers.  After  this  came  my  second  service :  a  pudding 
a  la  Reine  Elizabeth  (who,  Madame  Fribsbi  knows,  was 
a  maiden  princess)  ;  a  dish  of  opal-coloured  plovers' 
eggs,  which  I  called  Nid  de  tourtereaux  a  la  Roucoule; 
placing  in  the  midst  of  them  two  of  those  tender  volatiles, 
billing  each  other,  and  confectioned  with  butter;  a 
basket  containing  little  gateaux  of  apricots,  which,  I 
know,  all  young  ladies  adore;  and  a  jelly  of  marasquin, 
bland,  insinuating,  intoxicating  as  the  glance  of  beauty. 
This  I  designated  Ambroisie  de  Calypso  a  la  Souveraine 
de  mon  Cceur.  And  when  the  ice  was  brought  in — an 
ice  of  plombiere  and  cherries — how  do  you  think  I  had 
shaped  them,  Madame  Fribsbi?  In  the  form  of  two 
hearts  united  with  an  arrow,  on  which  I  had  laid,  before 
it  entered,  a  bridal  veil  in  cut-paper,  surmounted  by  a 
wreath  of  virginal  orange-flowers.  I  stood  at  the  door 


364  PENDENNIS 

to  watch  the  effect  of  this  entry.  It  was  but  one  cry 
of  admiration.  The  three  young  ladies  filled  their  glasses 
with  the  sparkling  Ay,  and  carried  me  in  a  toast.  I  heard 
it— I  heard  Miss  speak  of  me— I  heard  her  say,  'Tell 
Monsieur  Mirobolant  that  we  thank  him — we  admire 
him— we  love  him!'  My  feet  almost  failed  me  as  I 
spoke. 

"  Since  that,  can  I  have  any  reason  to  doubt  that  the 
young  artist  has  made  some  progress  in  the  heart  of  the 
English  Miss?  I  am  modest,  but  my  glass  informs  me 
that  I  am  not  ill-looking.  Other  victories  have  convinced 
me  of  the  fact." 

"  Dangerous  man!  "  cried  the  milliner. 

'  The  blonde  misses  of  Albion  see  nothing  in  the  dull 
inhabitants  of  their  brumous  isle,  which  can  compare 
with  the  ardour  and  vivacity  of  the  children  of  the  South. 
We  bring  our  sunshine  with  us ;  we  are  Frenchmen,  and 
accustomed  to  conquer.  Were  it  not  for  this  affair  of 
the  heart,  and  my  determination  to  marry  an  Anglaise, 
do  you  think  I  would  stop  in  this  island  (which  is  not 
altogether  ungrateful,  since  I  have  found  here  a  tender 
mother  in  the  respectable  Madame  Fribsbi),  in  this  is- 
land, in  this  family?  My  genius  would  use  itself  in  the 
company  of  these  rustics — the  poesy  of  my  art  cannot 
be  understood  by  these  carnivorous  insularies.  No — the 
men  are  odious,  but  the  women — the  women!  I  own, 
dear  Fribsbi,  are  seducing!  I  have  vowed  to  marry  one; 
and  as  I  cannot  go  into  your  markets  and  purchase,  ac- 
cording to  the  custom  of  the  country,  I  am  resolved  to 
adopt  another  custom,  and  fly  with  one  to  Gretna  Grin. 
The  blonde  Miss  will  go.  She  is  fascinated.  Her  eyes 
have  told  me  so.  The  white  dove  wants  but  the  signal 
to  fly." 


PENDENNIS  365 

"  Have  you  any  correspondence  with  her?  "  asked 
Fribsby,  in  amazement,  and  not  knowing  whether  the 
young  lady  or  the  lover  might  be  labouring  under  a 
romantic  delusion. 

"  I  correspond  with  her  by  means  of  my  art.  She 
partakes  of  dishes  which  I  make  expressly  for  her.  I 
insinuate  to  her  thus  a  thousand  hints,  which,  as  she  is 
perfectly  spiritual,  she  receives.  But  I  want  other  intel- 
ligences near  her." 

'  There  is  Pincott,  her  maid,"  said  Madame  Fribsby, 
who,  by  aptitude  or  education,  seemed  to  have  some 
knowledge  of  affairs  of  the  heart,  but  the  great  artist's 
brow  darkened  at  this  suggestion. 

"  Madame,"  he  said,  "  there  are  points  upon  which  a 
gallant  man  ought  to  silence  himself;  though,  if  he 
break  the  secret,  he  may  do  so  with  the  least  impropriety 
to  his  best  friend — his  adopted  mother.  Know  then, 
that  there  is  a  cause  why  Miss  Pincott  should  be  hostile 
to  me — a  cause  not  uncommon  with  your  sex — jealousy." 

"  Perfidious  monster!  "  said  the  confidante. 

"  Ah,  no,"  said  the  artist,  with  a  deep  bass  voice,  and 
a  tragic  accent  worthy  of  the  Porte  St.  Martin  and  his 
favourite  melo-drames,  "  Not  perfidious,  but  fatal.  Yes, 
I  am  a  fatal  man,  Madame  Fribsbi.  To  inspire  hopeless 
passion  is  my  destiny.  I  cannot  help  it  that  women  love 
me.  Is  it  my  fault  that  that  young  woman  deperishes 
and  languishes  to  the  view  of  the  eye,  consumed  by  a 
flame  which  I  cannot  return?  Listen!  There  are  others 
in  this  family  who  are  similarly  unhappy.  The  gover- 
ness of  the  young  Milor  has  encountered  me  in  my  walks, 
and  looked  at  me  in  a  way  which  can  bear  but  one  inter- 
pretation. And  Milady  herself,  who  is  of  mature  age, 
but  who  has  oriental  blood,  has  once  or  twice  addressed 


366  PENDENNIS 

compliments  to  the  lonely  artist  which  can  admit  of  no 
mistake.  I  avoid  the  household,  I  seek  solitude,  I  un- 
dergo my  destiny.  I  can  marry  but  one,  and  am  re- 
solved it  shall  be  to  a  lady  of  your  nation.  And,  if  her 
fortune  is  sufficient,  I  think  Miss  would  be  the  person 
who  would  be  most  suitable.  I  wish  to  ascertain  what  her 
means  are  before  I  lead  her  to  Gretna  Grin." 

Whether  Alcide  was  as  irresistible  a  conqueror  as  his 
namesake,  or  whether  he  was  simply  crazy,  is  a  point 
which  must  be  left  to  the  reader's  judgment.  But  the 
latter,  if  he  has  had  the  benefit  of  much  French  acquain- 
tance, has  perhaps  met  with  men  amongst  them  who  fan- 
cied themselves  almost  as  invincible;  and  who,  if  you 
credit  them,  have  made  equal  havoc  in  the  hearts  of  les 
Anglaises. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 


CONTAINS  BOTH  LOVE  AND  JEALOUSY 

UR  readers  have  already 
heard  Sir  Francis 
Clavering's  candid 
opinion  of  the  lady 
who  had  given  him 
her  fortune  and  re- 
stored him  to  his 
native  country  and 
home,  and  it  must 
be  owned  that  the 
Baronet  was  not 
far  wrong  in  his 
estimate  of  his 
wife,  and  that 
Lady  Clavering 
was  not  the  wis- 
est or  the  best 
educated  of  women.  She  had  had  a  couple  of  years' 
education  in  Europe,  in  a  suburb  of  London,  which  she 
persisted  in  calling  Ackney  to  her  dying  day,  whence 
she  had  been  summoned  to  join  her  father  at  Calcutta 
at  the  age  of  fifteen.  And  it  was  on  her  voyage  thither, 
on  board  the  Ramchunder  East  Indiaman,  Captain 
Bragg,  in  which  ship  she  had  two  years  previously  made 
her  journey  to  Europe,  that  she  formed  the  acquaintance 
of  her  first  husband,  Mr.  Amory,  who  was  third  mate 
of  the  vessel  in  question. 

367 


368  PENDENNIS 

We  are  not  going  to  enter  into  the  early  part  of  Lady 
Clavering's  history,  but  Captain  Bragg,  under  whose 
charge  Miss  Snell  went  out  to  her  father,  who  was  one  of 
the  Captain's  consignees,  and  part  owner  of  the  Ram- 
chunder  and  many  other  vessels,  found  reason  to  put 
the  rebellious  rascal  of  a  mate  in  irons,  until  they  reached 
the  Cape,  where  the  Captain  left  his  officer  behind :  and 
finally  delivered  his  ward  to  her  father  at  Calcutta,  after 
a  stormy  and  perilous  voyage  in  which  the  Ramchunder 
and  the  cargo  and  passengers  incurred  no  small  danger 
and  damage. 

Some  months  afterwards  Amory  made  his  appearance 
at  Calcutta,  having  worked  his  way  out  before  the  mast 
from  the  Cape — married  the  rich  Attorney's  daughter 
in  spite  of  that  old  speculator— set  up  as  indigo  planter 
and  failed— set  up  as  agent  and  failed  again— set  up 
as  editor  of  the  "  Sunderbund  Pilot  "  and  failed  again— 
quarrelling  ceaselessly  with  his  father-in-law  and  his  wife 
during  the  progress  of  all  these  mercantile  transactions 
and  disasters,  and  ending  his  career  finally  with  a  crash 
which  compelled  him  to  leave  Calcutta  and  go  to  New 
South  Wales.  It  was  in  the  course  of  these  luckless 
proceedings,  that  Mr.  Amory  probably  made  the  ac- 
quaintance of  Sir  Jasper  Rogers,  the  respected  Judge 
of  the  Supreme  Court  of  Calcutta,  who  has  been  men- 
tioned before :  and,  as  the  truth  must  out,  it  was  by  mak- 
ing an  improper  use  of  his  father-in-law's  name,  who 
could  write  perfectly  well,  and  had  no  need  of  an  aman- 
uensis, that  fortune  finally  forsook  Mr.  Amory  and 
caused  him  to  abandon  all  further  struggles  with  her. 

Not  being  in  the  habit  of  reading  the  Calcutta  law- 
reports  very  assiduously,  the  European  public  did  not 
know  of  these  facts  as  well  as  people  did  in  Bengal,  and 


PENDENNIS  369 

Mrs.  Amory  and  her  father,  finding  her  residence  in 
India  not  a  comfortable  one,  it  was  agreed  that  the  lady 
should  return  to  Europe,  whither  she  came  with  her  little 
daughter  Betsy  or  Blanche,  then  four  years  old.  They 
were  accompanied  by  Betsy's  nurse,  who  has  been  pre- 
sented to  the  reader  in  the  last  chapter  as  the  confidential 
maid  of  Lady  Clavering,  Mrs.  Bonner:  and  Captain 
Bragg  took  a  house  for  them  in  the  near  neighbourhood 
of  his  residence  in  Pocklington-street. 

It  was  a  very  hard  bitter  summer,  and  the  rain  it  rained 
every  day  for  some  time  after  Mrs.  Amory's  arrival. 
Bragg  was  very  pompous  and  disagreeable,  perhaps 
ashamed,  perhaps  anxious  to  get  rid  of  the  Indian  lady. 
She  believed  that  all  the  world  in  London  was  talking 
about  her  husband's  disaster,  and  that  the  King  and 
Queen  and  the  Court  of  Directors  were  aware  of  her  un- 
lucky history.  She  had  a  good  allowance  from  her  father ; 
she  had  no  call  to  live  in  England ;  and  she  determined  to 
go  abroad.  Away  she  went,  then,  glad  to  escape  the 
gloomy  surveillance  of  the  odious  bully,  Captain  Bragg. 
People  had  no  objection  to  receive  her  at  the  continental 
towns  where  she  stopped,  and  at  the  various  boarding- 
houses,  where  she  royally  paid  her  way.  She  called 
Hackney  Ackney,  to  be  sure  (though  otherwise  she  spoke 
English  with  a  little  foreign  twang,  very  curious  and  not 
unpleasant)  ;  she  dressed  amazingly;  she  was  conspicu- 
ous for  her  love  of  eating  and  drinking,  and  prepared 
curries  and  pillaus  at  every  boarding-house  which  she 
frequented;  but  her  singularities  of  language  and  be- 
haviour only  gave  a  zest  to  her  society,  and  Mrs.  Amory 
was  deservedly  popular.  She  was  the  most  good-na- 
tured, jovial,  and  generous  of  women.  She  was  up  to 
any  party  of  pleasure  by  whomsoever  proposed.  She 


370 


PENDENNIS 


brought  three  times  more  champagne  and  fowls  and 
ham  to  the  picnics  than  anyone  else.  She  took  endless 
boxes  for  the  play,  and  tickets  for  the  masked  balls,  and 
gave  them  away  to  everybody.  She  paid  the  boarding- 
house  people  months  beforehand;  she  helped  poor 


shabby  moustachioed  bucks  and  dowagers,  whose  remit- 
tances had  not  arrived,  with  constant  supplies  from  her 
purse;  and  in  this  way  she  tramped  through  Europe, 
and  appeared  at  Brussels,  at  Paris,  at  Milan,  at  Naples, 
at  Rome,  as  her  fancy  led  her.  News  of  Amory's  death 
reached  her  at  the  latter  place,  where  Captain  Clavering 
was  then  staying,  unable  to  pay  his  hotel  bill,  as,  indeed, 
was  his  friend,  the  Chevalier  Strong,  and  the  good- 
natured  widow  married  the  descendant  of  the  ancient 
house  of  Clavering — professing,  indeed,  no  particular 
grief  for  the  scapegrace  *of  a  husband  whom  she  had 


PENDENNIS  371 

lost:  and  thus  we  have  brought  her  up  to  the  present 
time  when  she  was  mistress  of  Clavering  Park. 

Missy  followed  her  mamma  in  most  of  her  peregrina- 
tions, and  so  learned  a  deal  of  life.  She  had  a  governess 
for  some  time ;  and  after  her  mother's  second  marriage, 
the  benefit  of  Madame  de  Caramel's  select  pension  in 
the  Champs  Elysees.  When  the  Claverings  came  to 
England,  she  of  course  came  with  them.  It  was  only 
within  a  few  years,  after  the  death  of  her  grandfather, 
and  the  birth  of  her  little  brother,  that  she  began  to 
understand  that  her  position  in  life  was  altered,  and  that 
Miss  Amory,  nobody's  daughter,  was  a  very  small  per- 
sonage in  a  house  compared  with  Master  Francis  Clav- 
ering, heir  to  an  ancient  baronetcy,  and  a  noble  estate. 
But  for  little  Frank,  she  would  have  been  an  heiress,  in 
spite  of  her  father:  and  though  she  knew  and  cared  not 
much  about  money,  of  which  she  never  had  any  stint,  and 
though  she  was  a  romantic  little  Muse,  as  we  have  seen, 
yet  she  could  not  reasonably  be  grateful  to  the  persons 
who  had  so  contributed  to  change  her  condition:  nor, 
indeed,  did  she  understand  what  the  matter  really  was, 
until  she  had  made  some  further  progress,  and  acquired 
more  accurate  knowledge  in  the  world. 

But  this  was  clear,  that  her  stepfather  was  dull  and 
weak:  that  mamma  dropped  her  H's,  and  was  not  re- 
fined in  manners  or  appearance;  and  that  little  Frank 
was  a  spoiled  quarrelsome  urchin,  always  having  his 
way,  always  treading  upon  her  feet,  always  upsetting 
his  dinner  on  her  dresses,  and  keeping  her  out  of  her 
inheritance.  None  of  these,  as  she  felt,  could  compre- 
hend her:  and  her  solitary  heart  naturally  pined  for 
other  attachments,  and  she  sought  around  her  where  to 
bestow  the  precious  boon  of  her  unoccupied  affection. 


372  PENDENNIS 

This  dear  girl,  then,  from  want  of  sympathy,  or 
other  cause,  made  herself  so  disagreeable  at  home,  and 
frightened  her  mother,  and  bored  her  step-father  so 
much,  that  they  were  quite  as  anxious  as  she  could  be 
that  she  should  settle  for  herself  in  life;  and  hence  Sir 
Francis  Clavering's  desire  expressed  to  his  friend, 
in  the  last  chapter,  that  Mrs.  Strong  should  die,  and 
that  he  would  take  Blanche  to  himself  as  a  second 
Mrs.  Strong. 

But  as  this  could  not  be,  any  other  person  was  welcome 
to  win  her :  and  a  smart  young  fellow,  well-looking  and 
well-educated,  like  our  friend  Arthur  Pendennis,  was 
quite  free  to  propose  for  her  if  he  had  a  mind,  and  would 
have  been  received  with  open  arms  by  Lady  Clavering  as 
a  son-in-law,  had  he  had  the  courage  to  come  forward 
as  a  competitor  for  Miss  Amory's  hand. 

Mr.  Pen,  however,  besides  other  drawbacks,  chose  to 
entertain  an  extreme  diffidence  about  himself.  He  was 
ashamed  of  his  late  failures,  of  his  idle  and  nameless 
condition,  of  the  poverty  which  he  had  brought  on  his 
mother  by  his  folly,  and  there  was  as  much  of  vanity  as 
remorse  in  his  present  state  of  doubt  and  distrust.  How 
could  he  ever  hope  for  such  a  prize  as  this  brilliant 
Blanche  Amory,  who  lived  in  a  fine  park  and  mansion, 
and  was  waited  on  by  a  score  of  grand  domestics,  whilst 
a  maid-servant  brought  in  their  meagre  meal  at  Fair- 
oaks,  and  his  mother  was  obliged  to  pinch  and  manage 
to  make  both  ends  meet?  Obstacles  seemed  to  him  insur- 
mountable, which  would  have  vanished  had  he  marched 
manfully  upon  them:  and  he  preferred  despairing,  or 
dallying  with  his  wishes, — or  perhaps  he  had  not  pos- 
itively shaped  them  as  yet, — to  attempting  to  win  gal- 
lantly the  object  of  his  desire.  Many  a  young  man 


PENDENNIS  373 

fails  by  that  species  of  vanity  called  shyness,  who  might, 
for  the  asking,  have  his  will. 

But  we  do  not  pretend  to  say  that  Pen  had,  as  yet, 
ascertained  his:  or  that  he  was  doing  much  more  than 
thinking  about  falling  in  love.  Miss  Amory  was  charm- 
ing and  lively.  She  fascinated  and  cajoled  him  by  a 
thousand  arts  or  natural  graces  or  flatteries.  But  there 
were  lurking  reasons  and  doubts,  besides  shyness  and 
vanity,  withholding  him.  In  spite  of  her  cleverness, 
and  her  protestations,  and  her  fascinations,  Pen's  mother 
had  divined  the  girl,  and  did  not  trust  her.  Mrs.  Pen- 
dennis  saw  Blanche  light-minded  and  frivolous,  detected 
many  wants  in  her  which  offended  the  pure  and  pious- 
minded  lady;  a  want  of  reverence  for  her  parents,  and 
for  things  more  sacred,  Helen  thought :  worldliness  and 
selfishness  couched  under  pretty  words  and  tender  ex- 
pressions. Laura  and  Pen  battled  these  points  strongly 
at  first  with  the  widow — Laura  being  as  yet  enthusiastic 
about  her  new  friend,  and  Pen  not  far-gone  enough  in 
love  to  attempt  any  concealment  of  his  feelings.  He 
would  laugh  at  these  objections  of  Helen's,  and  say, 
"  Psha,  mother!  you  are  jealous  about  Laura — all  wo- 
men are  jealous." 

But  when,  in  the  course  of  a  month  or  two,  and  by 
watching  the  pair  with  that  anxiety  with  which  brood- 
ing women  watch  over  their  son's  affections — and  in 
acknowledging  which,  I  have  no  doubt  there  is  a  sexual 
jealousy  on  the  mother's  part,  and  a  secret  pang — when 
Helen  saw  that  the  intimacy  appeared  to  make  progress, 
that  the  two  young  people  were  perpetually  finding  pre- 
texts to  meet,  and  that  Miss  Blanche  was  at  Fairoaks 
or  Mr.  Pen  at  the  Park  every  day,  the  poor  widow's 
heart  began  to  fail  her— her  darling  project  seemed  to 


374  PENDENNIS 

vanish  before  her ;  and,  giving  way  to  her  weakness,  she 
fairly  told  Pen  one  day  what  her  views  and  longings 
were;  that  she  felt  herself  breaking,  and  not  long  for 
this  world,  and  that  she  hoped  and  prayed  before  she 
went,  that  she  might  see  her  two  children  one.  The 
late  events,  Pen's  life  and  career  and  former  passion  for 
the  actress,  had  broken  the  spirit  of  this  tender  lady. 
She  felt  that  he  had  escaped  her,  and  was  in  the  maternal 
nest  no  more;  and  she  clung  with  a  sickening  fondness 
to  Laura,  Laura  who  had  been  left  to  her  by  Francis 
in  Heaven. 

Pen  kissed  and  soothed  her  in  his  grand  patronising 
way.  He  had  seen  something  of  this,  he  had  long 
thought  his  mother  wanted  to  make  this  marriage— did 
Laura  know  anything  of  it?  (Not  she,— Mrs.  Penden- 
nis  said— not  for  worlds  would  she  have  breathed  a  word 
of  it  to  Laura)  — "  Well,  well,  there  was  time  enough, 
his  mother  wouldn't  die,"  Pen  said,  laughingly:  "he 
wouldn't  hear  of  any  such  thing,  and  as  for  the  Muse, 
she  is  too  grand  a  lady  to  think  about  poor  little  me — 
and  as  for  Laura,  who  knows  that  she  would  have  me? 
She  would  do  anything  you  told  her,  to  be  sure.  But 
am  I  worthy  of  her?  " 

"  O,  Pen,  you  might  be,"  was  the  widow's  reply;  not 
that  Mr.  Pen  ever  doubted  that  he  was;  and  a  feeling 
of  indefinable  pleasure  and  self-complacency  came  over 
him  as  he  thought  over  this  proposal,  and  imaged  Laura 
to  himself,  as  his  memory  remembered  her  for  years  past, 
always  fair  and  open,  kindly  and  pious,  cheerful,  tender, 
and  true.  He  looked  at  her  with  brightening  eyes  as  she 
came  in  from  the  garden  at  the  end  of  this  talk,  her 
cheeks  rather  flushed,  her  looks  frank  and  smiling — 
a  basket  of  roses  in  her  hand. 


PENDENNIS  375 

She  took  the  finest  of  them  and  brought  it  to  Mrs. 
Pendennis,  who  was  refreshed  by  the  odour  and  colour 
of  these  flowers ;  and  hung  over  her  fondly  and  gave  it 
to  her. 

"  And  I  might  have  this  prize  for  the  asking! "  Pen 
thought,  with  a  thrill  of  triumph,  as  he  looked  at  the 
kindly  girl.  '  Why,  she  is  as  beautiful  and  as  generous 
as  her  roses."  The  image  of  the  two  women  remained 
for  ever  after  in  his  mind,  and  he  never  recalled  it  but 
the  tears  came  into  his  eyes. 

Before  very  many  weeks'  intimacy  with  her  new  ac- 
quaintance, however,  Miss  Laura  was  obliged  to  give 
in  to  Helen's  opinion,  and  own  that  the  Muse  was 
selfish,  unkind,  and  inconstant. 

Little  Frank,  for  instance,  might  be  very  provoking, 
and  might  have  deprived  Blanche  of  her  mamma's  af- 
fection, but  this  was  no  reason  why  Blanche  should  box 
the  child's  ears  because  he  upset  a  glass  of  water  over 
her  drawing,  and  why  she  should  call  him  many  oppro- 
brious names  in  the  English  and  French  language;  and 
the  preference  accorded  to  little  Frank  was  certainly 
no  reason  why  Blanche  should  give  herself  im- 
perial airs  of  command  towards  the  boy's  governess, 
and  send  that  young  lady  upon  messages  through  the 
house  to  bring  her  book  or  to  fetch  her  pocket-hand- 
kerchief. When  a  domestic  performed  an  errand  for 
honest  Laura,  she  was  always  thankful  and  pleased; 
whereas,  she  could  not  but  perceive  that  the  little  Muse 
had  not  the  slightest  scruple  in  giving  her  commands  to 
all  the  world  round  about  her,  and  in  disturbing  any- 
body's ease  or  comfort,  in  order  to  administer  to  her  own. 
It  was  Laura's  first  experience  in  friendship;  and  it 
pained  the  kind  creature's  heart-  to  be  obliged  to  give  up 


376 


PENDEXNIS 


as  delusions,  one  by  one,  those  charms  and  brilliant  qual- 
ities in  which  her  fancy  had  dressed  her  new  friend,  and 
to  find  that  the  fascinating  little  fairy  was  but  a  mortal, 
and  not  a  very  amiable  mortal  after  all.  What  generous 


person  is  there  that  has  not  been  so  deceived  in  his  time  ? 
—what  person,  perhaps,  that  has  not  so  disappointed 
others  in  his  turn  ? 

After  the  scene  with  little  Frank,  in  which  that  re- 
fractory son  and  heir  of  the  house  of  Clavering  had 
received  the  compliments  in  French  and  English,  and 


PENDENNIS  377 

the  accompanying  box  on  the  ear  from  his  sister,  Miss 
Laura,  who  had  plenty  of  humour,  could  not  help  calling 
to  mind  some  very  touching  and  tender  verses  which 
the  Muse  had  read  to  her  out  of  Mes  Larmes,  and  which 
began,  "  My  pretty  baby  brother,  may  angels  guard  thy 
rest,"  in  which  the  Muse,  after  complimenting  the  baby 
upon  the  station  in  life  which  it  was  about  to  occupy,  and 
contrasting  it  with  her  own  lonely  condition,  vowed  nev- 
ertheless that  the  angel  boy  would  never  enjoy  such 
affection  as  hers  was,  or  find  in  the  false  world  before 
him  anything  so  constant  and  tender  as  a  sister's  heart. 
"  It  may  be,"  the  forlorn  one  said,  "  it  may  be,  you  will 
slight  it,  my  pretty  baby  sweet,  You  will  spurn  me  from 
your  bosom,  I'll  cling  around  your  feet!  O  let  me,  let 
me,  love  you!  the  world  will  prove  to  you  As  false  as 
'tis  to  others,  but  I  am  ever  true."  And  behold  the  Muse 
was  boxing  the  darling  brother's  ears  instead  of  kneeling 
at  his  feet,  and  giving  Miss  Laura  her  first  lesson  in  the 
Cynical  philosophy — not  quite  her  first,  however, — some- 
thing like  this  selfishness  and  waywardness,  something 
like  this  contrast  between  practice  and  poetry,  between 
grand  versified  aspirations  and  every-day  life,  she  had 
witnessed  at  home  in  the  person  of  our  young  friend 
Mr.  Pen. 

But  then  Pen  was  different.  Pen  was  a  man.  It 
seemed  natural,  somehow,  that  he  should  be  self-willed 
and  should  have  his  own  way.  And  under  his  wayward- 
ness and  selfishness,  indeed,  there  was  a  kind  and  gen- 
erous heart.  O  it  was  hard  that  such  a  diamond  should 
be  changed  away  aerainst  such  a  false  stone  as  this.  In 
a  word,  Laura  began  to  be  tired  of  her  admired  Blanche. 
She  had  assayed  her  and  found  her  not  true;  and  her 
former  admiration  and  delight,  which  she  had  expressed 


378  PENDENNIS 

with  her  accustomed  generous  artlessness,  gave  way  to 
a  feeling,  which  we  shall  not  call  contempt,  but  which 
was  very  near  it;  and  which  caused  Laura  to  adopt 
towards  Miss  Amory  a  grave  and  tranquil  tone  of  su- 
periority, which  was  at  first  by  no  means  to  the  Muse's 
liking.  Nobody  likes  to  be  found  out,  or,  having  held 
a  high  place,  to  submit  to  step  down. 

The  consciousness  that  this  event  was  impending  did 
not  serve  to  increase  Miss  Blanche's  good  humour,  and 
as  it  made  her  peevish  and  dissatisfied  with  herself,  it 
probably  rendered  her  even  less  agreeable  to  the  persons 
round  about  her.  So  there  arose,  one  fatal  day,  a  battle- 
royal  between  dearest  Blanche  and  dearest  Laura,  in 
which  the  friendship  between  them  was  all  but  slain  out- 
right. Dearest  Blanche  had  been  unusually  capricious 
and  wicked  on  this  day.  She  had  been  insolent  to  her 
mother ;  savage  with  little  Frank ;  odiously  impertinent 
in  her  behaviour  to  the  boy's  governess;  and  intolerably 
cruel  to  Pincott,  her  attendant.  Not  venturing  to  attack 
her  friend  (for  the  little  tyrant  was  of  a  timid  feline 
nature,  and  only  used  her  claws  upon  those  who  were 
weaker  than  herself),  she  maltreated  all  these,  and  es- 
pecially poor  Pincott,  who  was  menial,  confidante,  com- 
panion (slave  always),  according  to  the  caprice  of  her 
young  mistress. 

This  girl,  who  had  been  sitting  in  the  room  with  the 
young  ladies,  being  driven  thence  in  tears,  occasioned 
by  the  cruelty  of  her  mistress,  and  raked  with  a  parting 
sarcasm  as  she  went  sobbing  from  the  door,  Laura  fairly 
broke  out  into  a  loud  and  indignant  invective — wondered 
how  one  so  young  could  forget  the  deference  owing  to 
her  elders  as  well  as  to  her  inferiors  in  station ;  and  pro- 
fessing so  much  sensibility  of  her  own,  could  torture  the 


PENDENNIS  379 

feelings  of  others  so  wantonly.  Laura  told  her  friend 
that  her  conduct  was  absolutely  wicked,  and  that  she 
ought  to  ask  pardon  of  Heaven  on  her  knees  for  it.  And 
having  delivered  herself  of  a  hot  and  voluble  speech 
whereof  the  delivery  astonished  the  speaker  as  much  al- 
most as  her  auditor,  she  ran  to  her  bonnet  and  shawl, 
and  went  home  across  the  park  in  a  great  flurry  and 
perturbation,  and  to  the  surprise  of  Mrs.  Pendennis,  who 
had  not  expected  her  until  night. 

Alone  with  Helen,  Laura  gave  an  account  of  the 
scene,  and  gave  up  her  friend  henceforth.  "  O 
Mamma,"  she  said,  "  you  were  right ;  Blanche,  who 
seems  so  soft  and  so  kind,  is,  as  you  have  said,  selfish 
and  cruel.  She  who  is  always  speaking  of  her  affections 
can  have  no  heart.  No  honest  girl  would  afflict  a  mother 
so,  or  torture  a  dependant;  and — and,  I  give  her  up 
from  this  day,  and  I  will  have  no  other  friend  but  you." 

On  this  the  two  ladies  went  through  the  osculatory 
ceremony  which  they  were  in  the  habit  of  performing, 
and  Mrs.  Pendennis  got  a  great  secret  comfort  from  the 
little  quarrel — for  Laura's  confession  seemed  to  say, 
'  That  girl  can  never  be  a  wife  for  Pen,  for  she  is  light- 
minded  and  heartless,  and  quite  unworthy  of  our  noble 
hero.  He  will  be  sure  to  find  out  her  unworthiness  for 
his  own  part,  and  then  he  will  be  saved  from  this  flighty 
creature,  and  awake  out  of  his  delusion." 

But  Miss  Laura  did  not  tell  Mrs.  Pendennis,  per- 
haps did  not  acknowledge  to  herself,  what  had  been  the 
real  cause  of  the  day's  quarrel.  Being  in  a  very  wicked 
mood,  and  bent  upon  mischief  everywhere,  the  little 
wicked  Muse  of  a  Blanche  had  very  soon  begun  her 
tricks.  Her  darling  Laura  had  come  to  pass  a  long  day ; 
and  as  they  were  sitting  in  jier  own  room  together, 


380  PENDENNIS 

had  chosen  to  bring  the  conversation  round  to  the  sub- 
ject of  Mr.  Pen. 

"  I  am  afraid  he  is  sadly  fickle,"  Miss  Blanche  ob- 
served ;  "  Mrs.  Pybus,  and  many  more  Clavering  people, 
have  told  us  all  about  the  actress." 

"  I  was  quite  a  child  when  it  happened,  and  I  don't 
know  anything  about  it,"  Laura  answered,  blushing  very 
much. 

"  He  used  her  very  ill,"  Blanche  said,  wagging  her 
little  head.  "  He  was  false  to  her." 

"  I  am  sure  he  was  not,"  Laura  cried  out;  "  he  acted 
most  generously  by  her:  he  wanted  to  give  up  every- 
thing to  marry  her.  It  was  she  that  was  false  to  him. 
He  nearly  broke  his  heart  about  it:  he— 

"  I  thought  you  didn't  know  anything  about  the  story, 
dearest,"  interposed  Miss  Blanche. 

"  Mamma  has  said  so,"  said  Laura. 

'  Well,  he  is  very  clever,"  continued  the  other  little 
dear.  '  What  a  sweet  poet  he  is !  Have  you  ever  read 
his  poems? " 

"  Only  the  '  Fisherman  and  the  Diver,'  which  he  trans- 
lated for  us,  and  his  Prize  Poem,  which  didn't  get  the 
prize;  and,  indeed,  I  thought  it  very  pompous  and 
prosy,"  Laura  said,  laughing. 

"  Has  he  never  written  you  any  poems,  then,  love? " 
asked  Miss  Amory. 

"  No,  my  dear,"  said  Miss  Bell. 

Blanche  ran  up  to  her  friend,  kissed  her  fondly,  called 
her  my  dearest  Laura  at  least  three  times,  looked  her 
archly  in  the  face,  nodded  her  head,  and  said,  "  Promise 
to  tell  no-o-body,  and  I  will  show  you  something." 

And  tripping  across  the  room  daintily  to  a  little 
mother-of-pearl  inlaid  desk,  she  opened  it  with  a  silver 
key,  and  took  out  two  or  three  papers  crumpled  and 


PENDENNIS  381 

rather  stained  with  green,  which  she  submitted  to  her 
friend.  Laura  took  them  and  read  them.  They  were 
love-verses  sure  enough — something  about  Undine — 
about  a  Naiad— about  a  river.  She  looked  at  them  for 
a  long  time ;  but  in  truth  the  lines  were  not  very  distinct 
before  her  eyes. 

"  And  you  have  answered  them,  Blanche?  "  she  asked, 
putting  them  back. 

"  O  no!  not  for  worlds,  dearest,"  the  other  said:  and 
when  her  dearest  Laura  had  quite  done  with  the  verses, 
she  tripped  back,  and  popped  them  again  into  the  pretty 
desk. 

Then  she  went  to  her  piano,  and  sang  two  or  three 
songs  of  Rossini  whose  flourishes  of  music  her  flexible 
little  voice  could  execute  to  perfection,  and  Laura  sate 
by,  vaguely  listening,  as  she  performed  these  pieces. 
What  was  Miss  Bell  thinking  about  the  while?  She 
hardly  knew;  but  sate  there  silent  as  the  songs  rolled 
by.  After  this  concert  the  young  ladies  were  summoned 
to  the  room  where  luncheon  was  served;  and  whither 
they  of  course  went  with  their  arms  round  each  other's 
waists. 

And  it  could  not  have  been  jealousy  or  anger  on 
Laura's  part  which  had  made  her  silent :  for,  after  they 
had  tripped  along  the  corridor  and  descended  the  steps, 
and  were  about  to  open  the  door  which  leads  into  the 
hall,  Laura  paused,  and  looking  her  friend  kindly  and 
frankly  in  the  face,  kissed  her  with  a  sisterly  warmth. 

Something  occurred  after  this — Master  Frank's  man- 
ner of  eating,  probably,  or  mamma's  blunders,  or  Sir 
Francis  smelling  of  cigars— which  vexed  Miss  Blanche, 
and  she  gave  way  to  that  series  of  naughtinesses  whereof 
we  have  spoken,  and  which  ended  in  the  above  little 
quarrel. 


CHAPTER   XXV 


A  HOUSE  FULL  OF  VISITORS 

THE  difference  between 
.the  girls  did  not  last 
long.  Laura  was  al- 
ways too  eager  to  for- 
give and  be  forgiven, 
and  as  for  Miss 
Blanche,  her  hostilities, 
never  very  long  or 
durable,  had  not  been 
provoked  by  the  above 
scene.  Nobody  cares 
about  being  accused  of 
wickedness.  No  van- 
ity is  hurt  by  that  sort 
of  charge :  Blanche  was 
rather  pleased  than 

provoked  by  her  friend's  indignation,  which  never  would 
have  been  raised  but  for  a  cause  which  both  knew,  though 
neither  spoke  of. 

And  so  Laura,  with  a  sigh,  was  obliged  to  confess 
that  the  romantic  part  of  her  first  friendship  was  at  an 
end,  and  that  the  object  of  it  was  only  worthy  of  a  very 
ordinary  sort  of  regard. 

As  for  Blanche,  she  instantly  composed  a  copy  of 
touching  verses,  setting  forth  her  desertion  and  disen- 
chantment. It  was  only  the  old  story  she  wrote,  of  love 

382 


PENDENNIS  383 

meeting  with  coldness,  and  fidelity  returned  by  neglect ; 
and  some  new  neighbours  arriving  from  London  about 
this  time,  in  whose  family  there  were  daughters,  Miss 
Amory  had  the  advantage  of  selecting  an  eternal  friend 
from  one  of  these  young  ladies,  and  imparting  her  sor- 
rows and  disappointments  to  this  new  sister.  The  tall 
footman  came  but  seldom  now  with  notes  to  the  sweet 
Laura;  the  pony  carriage  was  but  rarely  despatched  to 
Fairoaks  to  be  at  the  orders  of  the  ladies  there.  Blanche 
adopted  a  sweet  look  of  suffering  martyrdom  when 
Laura  came  to  see  her.  The  other  laughed  at  her 
friend's  sentimental  mood,  and  treated  it  with  a  good 
humour  that  was  by  no  means  respectful. 

But  if  Miss  Blanche  found  new  female  friends  to 
console  her,  the  faithful  historian  is  also  bound  to  say, 
that  she  discovered  some  acquaintances  of  the  other  sex 
who  seemed  to  give  her  consolation  too.  If  ever  this 
artless  young  creature  met  a  young  man,  and  had  ten 
minutes'  conversation  with  him  in  a  garden  walk,  in  a 
drawing-room  window,  or  in  the  intervals  of  a  waltz,  she 
confided  in  him,  so  to  speak— made  play  with  her  beauti- 
ful eyes — spoke  in  a  tone  of  tender  interest,  and  simple 
and  touching  appeal,  and  left  him,  to  perform  the  same 
pretty  little  drama  in  behalf  of  his  successor. 

When  the  Claverings  first  came  down  to  the  Park, 
there  were  very  few  audiences  before  whom  Miss 
Blanche  could  perform:  hence  Pen  had  all  the  benefits 
of  her  glances,  and  confidences,  and  the  drawing-room 
window,  or  the  garden  walk  all  to  himself.  In  the  town 
of  Clavering,  it  has  been  said,  there  were  actually  no 
young  men:  in  the  near  surrounding  country,  only  a 
curate  or  two,  or  a  rustic  young  squire,  with  large  feet 
and  ill-made  clothes.  To  the  dragoons  quartered  at 


884  PENDENNIS 

Chatteris  the  Baronet  made  no  overtures:  it  was  un- 
luckily his  own  regiment:  he  had  left  it  on  bad  terms 
with  some  officers  of  the  corps — an  ugly  business  about 
a  horse  bargain — a  disputed  play  account  at  blind- 
Hookey — a  white  feather — who  need  ask?— it  is  not  our 
business  to  inquire  too  closely  into  the  bygones  of  our 
characters,  except  in  so  far  as  their  previous  history 
appertains  to  the  development  of  this  present  story. 

The  autumn,  and  the  end  of  the  Parliamentary  Ses- 
sion, and  the  London  season,  brought  one  or  two  county 
families  down  to  their  houses,  and  filled  tolerably  the 
neighbouring  little  watering-place  of  Baymouth,  and 
opened  our  friend  Mr.  Bingley's  Theatre  Royal  at  Chat- 
teris, and  collected  the  usual  company  at  the  Assizes  and 
Raceballs  there.  Up  to  this  time,  the  old  county  families 
had  been  rather  shy  of  our  friends  of  Clavering  Park. 
The  Fogys  of  Drummington;  the  Squares  of  Dozley 
Park;  the  Welbores  of  The  Barrow,  &c.  All  sorts  of 
stories  were  current  among  these  folks  regarding  the 
family  at  Clavering; — indeed,  nobody  ought  to  say  that 
people  in  the  country  have  no  imagination,  who  hear 
them  talk  about  new  neighbours.  About  Sir  Fran- 
cis and  his  Lady,  and  her  birth  and  parentage,  about 
Miss  Amory,  about  Captain  Strong,  there  had  been 
endless  histories  which  need  not  be  recapitulated;  and 
the  family  of  the  Park  had  been  three  months  in  the 
county  before  the  great  people  around  began  to  call. 

But  at  the  end  of  the  season,  the  Earl  of  Trehawk, 
Lord  Lieutenant  of  the  County,  coming  to  Eyrie  Castle, 
and  the  Countess  Dowager  of  Rockminster,  whose  son 
was  also  a  magnate  of  the  land,  to  occupy  a  mansion  on 
the  Marine  Parade  at  Baymouth— these  great  folks 
came  publicly,  immediately,  and  in  state,  to  call  upon 


PENDENNIS  385 

the  family  of  Clavering  Park ;  and  the  carriages  of  the 
county  families  speedily  followed  in  the  track,  which  had 
been  left  in  the  avenue  by  their  lordly  wheels. 

It  was  then  that  Mirobolant  began  to  have  an  oppor- 
tunity of  exercising  that  skill  which  he  possessed,  and 
of  forgetting,  in  the  occupations  of  his  art,  the  pangs  of 
love.  It  was  then  that  the  large  footmen  were  too  much 
employed  at  Clavering  Park  to  be  able  to  bring  mes- 
sages, or  dally  over  the  cup  of  small  beer  with  the  poor 
little  maids  at  Fairoaks.  It  was  then  that  Blanche  found 
other  dear  friends  than  Laura,  and  other  places  to  walk 
in  besides  the  river-side,  where  Pen  was  fishing.  He 
came  day  after  day,  and  whipped  the  stream,  but  the 
"fish,  fish!"  wouldn't  do  their  duty,  nor.  the  Peri  ap- 
pear. And  here,  though  in  strict  confidence,  and  with  a 
request  that  the  matter  go  no  further,  we  may  as  well 
allude  to  a  delicate  business,  of  which  previous  hint  has 
been  given.  Mention  has  been  made,  in  a  former  page, 
of  a  certain  hollow  tree,  at  which  Pen  used  to  take  his 
station  when  engaged  in  his  passion  for  Miss  Fotherin- 
gay,  and  the  cavity  of  which  he  afterwards  used  for 
other  purposes  than  to  insert  his  baits  and  fishing-cans 
in.  The  truth  is,  he  converted  this  tree  into  a  post-office. 
Under  a  piece  of  moss  and  a  stone,  he  used  to  put  little 
poems,  or  letters  equally  poetical,  which  were  addressed 
to  a  certain  Undine  or  Naiad  who  frequented  the  stream, 
and  which,  once  or  twice,  were  replaced  by  a  receipt  in 
the  shape  of  a  flower,  or  by  a  modest  little  word  or  two 
of  acknowledgment,  written  in  a  delicate  hand,  in  French 
or  English,  and  on  pink  scented  paper.  Certainly,  Miss 
Amory  used  to  walk  by  this  stream,  as  we  have  seen; 
and  it  is  a  fact  that  she  used  pink  scented  paper  for  her 
correspondence.  But  after  the  great  folks  had  invaded 


386  PENDENNIS 

Clavering  Park,  and  the  family  coach  passed  out  of  the 
lodge-gates,  evening  after  evening,  on  their  way  to  the 
other  great  country  houses,  nobody  came  to  fetch  Pen's 
letters  at  the  post-office;  the  white  paper  was  not  ex- 
changed for  the  pink,  but  lay  undisturbed  under  its 
stone  and  its  moss,  whilst  the  tree  was  reflected  into  the 
stream,  and  the  Brawl  went  rolling  by.  There  was  not 
much  in  the  letters  certainly:  in  the  pink  notes  scarcely 
anything— merely  a  little  word  or  two,  half  jocular,  half 
sympathetic,  such  as  might  be  written  by  any  young 
lady.  But  oh,  you  silly  Pendennis,  if  you  wanted  this 
one,  why  did  you  not  speak  ?  Perhaps  neither  party  was 
in  earnest.  You  were  only  playing  at  being  in  love,  and 
the  sportive  lijtle  Undine  was  humouring  you  at  the  same 
play. 

Nevertheless  if  a  man  is  baulked  at  this  game,  he  not 
unfrequently  loses  his  temper;  and  when  nobody  came 
any  more  for  Pen's  poems,  he  began  to  look  upon  those 
compositions  in  a  very  serious  light.  He  felt  almost 
tragical  and  romantic  again,  as  in  his  first  affair  of  the 
heart: — at  any  rate  he  was  bent  upon  having  an  explana- 
tion. One  day  he  went  to  the  Hall,  and  there  was  a 
roomful  of  visitors:  on  another,  Miss  Amory  was  not 
to  be  seen;  she  was  going  to  a  ball  that  night,  and  was 
lying  down  to  take  a  little  sleep.  Pen  cursed  balls,  and 
the  narrowness  of  his  means,  and  the  humility  of  his 
position  in  the  county  that  caused  him  to  be  passed  over 
by  the  givers  of  these  entertainments.  On  a  third  occa- 
sion, Miss  Amory  was  in  the  garden,  and  he  ran  thither; 
she  was  walking  there  in  state  with  no  less  personages 
than  the  Bishop  and  Bishopess  of  Chatteris  and  the  epis- 
copal family,  who  scowled  at  him,  and  drew  up  in  great 
dignity  when  he  was  presented  to  them,  and  they  heard 


PENDENNIS  387 

his  name.  The  Right  Reverend  Prelate  had  heard  it  be- 
fore, and  also  of  the  little  transaction  in  the  Dean's 
garden. 

'  The  Bishop  says  you're  a  sad  young  man,"  good- 
natured  Lady  Clavering  whispered  to  him.  "  What 
have  you  been  a  doing  of?  Nothink,  I  hope,  to  vex  such 
a  dear  Mar  as  yours?  How  is  your  dear  Mar?  Why 
don't  she  come  and  see  me?  We  an't  seen  her  this  ever 
such  a  time.  We're  a  goin'  about  a  gaddin',  so  that  we 
don't  see  no  neighbours  now.  Give  my  love  to  her  and 
Laurar,  and  come  all  to  dinner  to-morrow." 

Mrs.  Pendennis  was  too  unwell  to  come  out,  but 
Laura  and  Pen  came,  and  there  was  a  great  party, 
and  Pen  only  got  an  opportunity  of  a  hurried  word 
with  Miss  Amory.  '  You  never  come  to  the  river  now," 
he  said. 

"  I  can't,"  said  Blanche,  "  the  house  is  full  of  people." 

"  Undine  has  left  the  stream,"  Mr.  Pen  went  on, 
choosing  to  be  poetical. 

"  She  never  ought  to  have  gone  there,"  Miss  Amory 
answered.  "  She  won't  go  again.  It  was  very  foolish, 
very  wrong:  it  was  only  play.  Besides,  you  have  other 
consolations  at  home,"  she  added,  looking  him  full  in 
the  face  an  instant,  and  dropping  her  eyes. 

If  he  wanted  her,  why  did  he  not  speak  then?  She 
might  have  said  "  Yes  "  even  then.  But  as  she  spoke  of 
other  consolations  at  home,  he  thought  of  Laura,  so  af- 
fectionate and  so  pure,  and  of  his  mother  at  home,  who 
had  bent  her  fond  heart  upon  uniting  him  with  her 
adopted  daughter.  "  Blanche ! "  he  began,  in  a  vexed 
tone,—"  Miss  Amory! " 

"  Laura  is  looking  at  us,  Mr.  Pendennis,"  the  young 
lady  said.  "  I  must  go  back  to  .the  company,"  and  she 


388  PENDENNIS 

ran  off,  leaving  Mr.  Pendennis  to  bite  his  nails  in 
perplexity,  and  to  look  out  into  the  moonlight  in  the 
garden. 

Laura  indeed  was  looking  at  Pen.  She  was  talking 
with,  or  appearing  to  listen  to  the  talk  of,  Mr.  Pynsent, 
Lord  Rockminster's  son,  and  grandson  of  the  Dowager 
Lady,  who  was  seated  in  state  in  the  place  of  honour, 
gravely  receiving  Lady  Clavering's  bad  grammar,  and 
patronising  the  vacuous  Sir  Francis,  whose  interest  in 
the  county  she  was  desirous  to  secure.  Pynsent  and  Pen 
had  been  at  Oxbridge  together,  where  the  latter,  during 
his  heyday  of  good  fortune  and  fashion,  had  been  the 
superior  of  the  young  patrician,  and  perhaps  rather  su- 
percilious towards  him.  They  had  met  for  the  first  time, 
since  they  had  parted  at  the  University,  at  the  table  to- 
day, and  given  each  other  that  exceedingly  impertinent 
and  amusing  demi-nod  of  recognition  which  is  practised 
in  England  only,  and  only  to  perfection  by  University 
men, — and  which  seems  to  say,  "  Confound  you— what 
do  you  do  here?  " 

"  I  knew  that  man  at  Oxbridge,"  Mr.  Pynsent  said 
to  Miss  Bell—"  a  Mr.  Pendennis,  I  think." 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Bell- 

"  He  seems  rather  sweet  upon  Miss  Amory,"  the  gen- 
tleman went  on.  Laura  looked  at  them,  and  perhaps 
thought  so  too,  but  said  nothing. 

"A  man  of  large  property  in  the  county,  ain't  he? 
He  used  to  talk  about  representing  it.  He  used  to 
speak  at  the  Union.  Whereabouts  do  his  estates  lie? " 

Laura  smiled.  "  His  estates  lie  on  the  other  side  of 
the  river,  near  the  lodge  gate.  He  is  my  cousin,  and 
I  live  there." 

'  Where?  "  asked  Mr.  Pynsent,  with  a  laugh. 


PENDENNIS  389 

"  Why,  on  the  other  side  of  the  river,  at  Fairoaks," 
answered  Miss  Bell. 

"  Many  pheasants  there?  Cover  looks  rather  good," 
said  the  simple  gentleman. 

Laura  smiled  again.  '  We  have  nine  hens  and  a  cock, 
a  pig,  and  an  old  pointer." 

"  Pendennis  don't  preserve,  then?"  continued  Mr. 
Pynsent. 

"  You  should  come  and  see  him,"  the  girl  said,  laugh- 
ing, and  greatly  amused  at  the  notion  that  her  Pen  was 
a  great  county  gentleman,  and  perhaps  had  given  him- 
self out  to  be  such. 

"  Indeed,  I  quite  long  to  renew  our  acquaintance," 
Mr.  Pynsent  said,  gallantly,  and  with  a  look  which  fairly 
said,  "  It  is  you  that  I  would  like  to  come  and  see  " — to 
which  look  and  speech  Miss  Laura  vouchsafed  a  smile, 
and  made  a  little  bow. 

Here  Blanche  came  stepping  up  with  her  most  fasci- 
nating smile  and  ogle,  and  begged  dear  Laura  to  come 
and  take  the  second  in  a  song.  Laura  was  ready  to  do 
anything  good-natured,  and  went  to  the  piano;  by 
which  Mr.  Pynsent  listened  as  long  as  the  duet  lasted, 
and  until  Miss  Amory  began  for  herself,  when  he  strode 
away. 

'  What  a  nice,  frank,  amiable,  well-bred  girl  that  is, 
Wagg,"  said  Mr.  Pynsent  to  a  gentleman  who  had  come 
over  with  him  from  Baymouth — "  the  tall  one  I  mean, 
with  the  ringlets  and  the  red  lips — monstrous  red,  ain't 
they? " 

'  What  do  you  think  of  the  girl  of  the  house?  "  asked 
Mr.  Wagg. 

"  I  think  she's  a  lean,  scraggy  humbug,"  said  Mr. 
Pynsent,  with  great  candour.  .**  She  drags  her  shoul- 


390  PENDENNIS 

ders  out  of  her  dress :  she  never  lets  her  eyes  alone :  and 
she  goes  simpering  and  ogling  about  like  a  French  wait- 
ing-maid." 

"  Pynsent,  be  civil,"  cried  the  other,  "  somebody  can 
hear."" 

"  Oh,  it's  Pendennis  of  Boniface,"  Mr.  Pynsent  said. 
"  Fine  evening,  Mr.  Pendennis;  we  were  just  talking  of 
your  charming  cousin." 

"  Any  relation  to  my  old  friend,  Major  Pendennis?  " 
asked  Mr.  Wagg. 

"  His  nephew.  Had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  you  at 
Gaunt  House,"  Mr.  Pen  said  with  his  very  best  air— 
the  acquaintance  between  the  gentlemen  was  made  in 
an  instant. 

In  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day,  the  two  gentlemen 
who  were  staying  at  Clavering  Park  were  found  by  Mr. 
Pen  on  his  return  from  a  fishing  excursion,  in  which  he 
had  no  sport,  seated  in  his  mother's  drawing-room  in 
comfortable  conversation  with  the  widow  and  her  ward. 
Mr.  Pynsent,  tall  and  gaunt,  with  large  red  whiskers 
and  an  imposing  tuft  to  his  chin,  was  striding  over  a 
chair  in  the  intimate  neighbourhood  of  Miss  Laura.  She 
was  amused  by  his  talk,  which  was  simple,  straightfor- 
ward, rather  humorous,  and  keen,  and  interspersed 
with  homely  expressions  of  a  style  which  is  sometimes 
called  slang.  It  was  the  first  specimen  of  a  young  Lon- 
don dandy  that  Laura  had  seen  or  heard;  for  she  had 
been  but  a  chit  at  the  time  of  Mr.  Foker's  introduction 
at  Fairoaks,  nor  indeed  was  that  ingenuous  gentleman 
much  more  than  a  boy,  and  his  refinement  was  only 
that  of  a  school  and  college. 

Mr.  Wagg,  as  he  entered  the  Fairoaks  premises  with 


PENDENNIS  391 

his  companion,  eyed  and  noted  everything.  "  Old  gar- 
dener," he  said,  seeing  Mr.  John  at  the  lodge—  "  old  red 
livery  waistcoat— clothes  hanging  out  to  dry  on  the 
gooseberry  bushes — blue  aprons,  white  ducks — gad,  they 
must  be  young  Pendennis's  white  ducks — nobody  else 
wears  'em  in  the  family.  Rather  a  shy  place  for  a  suck- 
ing county  member,  ay,  Pynsent?  " 

"  Snug  little  crib,"  said  Mr.  Pynsent,  "  pretty  cozy 
little  lawn." 

"Mr.  Pendennis  at  home,  old  gentleman?"  Mr. 
Wagg  said  to  the  old  domestic.  John  answered,  "  No, 
Master  Pendennis  was  agone  out." 

"  Are  the  ladies  at  home?  "  asked  the  younger  visitor. 
Mr.  John  answered,  "  Yes,  they  be ;  "  and  as  the  pair 
walked  over  the  trim  gravel,  and  by  the  neat  shrub- 
beries, up  the  steps  to  the  hall-door,  which  old  John 
opened,  Mr.  Wagg  noted  everything  that  he  saw;  the 
barometer  and  the  letter-bag,  the  umbrellas  and  the 
ladies'  clogs,  Pen's  hats  and  tartan  wrapper,  and  old 
John  opening  the  drawing-room  door,  to  introduce  the 
new  comers.  Such  minutiae  attracted  Wagg  instinc- 
tively ;  he  seized  them  in  spite  of  himself. 

"  Old  fellow  does  all  the  work,"  he  whispered  to 
Pynsent.  "  Caleb  Balderstone.  Shouldn't  wonder  if 
he's  the  housemaid."  The  next  minute  the  pair  were 
in  the  presence  of  the  Fairoaks  ladies;  in  whom  Pyn- 
sent could  not  help  recognising  two  perfectly  well-bred 
ladies,  and  to  whom  Mr.  Wagg  made  his  obeisance,  with 
florid  bows,  and  extra  courtesy,  accompanied  with  an 
occasional  knowing  leer  at  his  companion.  Mr.  Pynsent 
did  not  choose  to  acknowledge  these  signals,  except  by 
extreme  haughtiness  towards  Mr.  Wagg,  and  particular 
deference  to  the  ladies.  If  there  was  one  thing  laugh- 


392  PENDENNIS 

able  in  Mr.  Wagg's  eyes,  it  was  poverty.  He  had  the 
soul  of  a  butler  who  had  been  brought  from  his  pantry 
to  make  fun  in  the  drawing-room.  His  jokes  were 
plenty,  and  his  good-nature  thoroughly  genuine,  but 
he  did  not  seem  to  understand  that  a  gentleman  could 
wear  an  old  coat,  or  that  a  lady  could  be  respectable 
unless  she  had  her  carriage,  or  employed  a  French 
milliner. 

"  Charming  place,  ma'am,"  said  he,  bowing  to  the 
widow;  "noble  prospect— delightful  to  us  Cockneys, 
who  seldom  see  anything  but  Pall  Mall."  The  widow 
said,  simply,  she  had  never  been  in  London  but  once  in 
her  life — before  her  son  was  born. 

"  Fine  village,  ma'am,  fine  village,"  said  Mr.  Wagg, 
"  and  increasing  every  day.  It'll  be  quite  a  large  town 
soon.  It's  not  a  bad  place  to  live  in  for  those  who  can't 
get  the  country,  and  will  repay  a  visit  when  you  hon- 
our it." 

"  My  brother,  Major  Pendennis,  has  often  mentioned 
your  name  to  us,"  the  widow  said,  "  and  we  have  been— 
amused  by  some  of  your  droll  books,  sir,"  Helen  con- 
tinued, who  never  could  be  brought  to  like  Mr.  Wagg's 
books,  and  detested  their  tone  most  thoroughly. 

"  He  is  my  very  good  friend,"  Mr.  Wagg  said,  with  a 
low  bow,  "  and  one  of  the  best  known  men  about  town, 
and  where  known,  ma'am,  appreciated— I  assure  you, 
appreciated.  He  is  with  our  friend  Steyne,  at  Aix-la- 
Chapelle.  Steyne  has  a  touch  of  the  gout,  and  so,  be- 
tween ourselves,  has  your  brother.  I  am  going  to  Still- 
brook  for  the  pheasant-shooting,  and  afterwards  to 
Bareacres,  where  Pendennis  and  I  shall  probably  meet ;  " 
and  he  poured  out  a  flood  of  fashionable  talk,  introduc- 
ing the  names  of  a  score  of  peers,  and  rattling  on  with 


A  morning  visit 
at  tea-time 


PENDENNIS  393 

breathless  spirits,  whilst  the  simple  widow  listened  in 
silent  wonder.  What  a  man,  she  thought;  are  all  the 
men  of  fashion  in  London  like  this  ?  I  am  sure  Pen  will 
never  be  like  him. 

Mr.  Pynsent  was  in  the  meanwhile  engaged  with  Miss 
Laura.  He  named  some  of  the  houses  in  the  neighbour- 
hood whither  he  was  going,  and  hoped  very  much  that 
he  should  see  Miss  Bell  at  some  of  them.  He  hoped 
that  her  aunt  would  give  her  a  season  in  London.  He 
said,  that  in  the  next  parliament  it  was  probable  he 
should  canvass  the  county,  and  he  hoped  to  get  Pen- 
dennis's  interest  here.  He  spoke  of  Pen's  triumph 
as  an  orator  at  Oxbridge,  and  asked  was  he  coming 
into  parliament  too?  He  talked  on  very  pleasantly, 
and  greatly  to  Laura's  satisfaction,  until  Pen  him- 
self appeared  and,  as  has  been  said,  found  these  gen- 
tlemen. 

Pen  behaved  very  courteously  to  the  pair,  now  that 
they  had  found  their  way  into  his  quarters ;  and  though 
he  recollected  with  some  twinges  a  conversation  at  Ox- 
bridge, when  Pynsent  was  present,  and  in  which,  after 
a  great  debate  at  the  Union,  and  in  the  midst  of  con- 
siderable excitement,  produced  by  a  supper  and  cham- 
pagne-cup,— he  had  announced  his  intention  of  coming 
in  for  his  native  county,  and  had  absolutely  returned 
thanks  in  a  fine  speech  as  the  future  member;  yet  Mr. 
Pynsent's  manner  was  so  frank  and  cordial,  that  Pen 
hoped  Pynsent  might  have  forgotten  his  little  fanfar- 
onnade,  and  any  other  braggadocio  speeches  or  actions 
which  he  might  have  made.  He  suited  himself  to  the 
tone  of  the  visitors  then,  and  talked  about  Plinlimmon 
and  Magnus  Charters,  and  the  old  set  at  Oxbridge,  with 
careless  familiarity  and  high-bred  ease,  as  if  he  lived 


394  PENDENNIS 

with  marquises  every  day,  and  a  duke  was  no  more  to 
him  than  a  village  curate. 

But  at  this  juncture,  and  it  being  then  six  o'clock  in 
the  evening,  Betsy,  the  maid,  who  did  not  know  of  the 
advent  of  strangers,  walked  into  the  room  without  any 
preliminary  but  that  of  flinging  the  door  wide  open  be- 
fore her,  and  bearing  in  her  arms  a  tray,  containing  three 
tea-cups,  a  tea-pot,  and  a  plate  of  thick  bread-and-butter. 
All  Pen's  splendour  and  magnificence  vanished  away  at 
this — and  he  faltered  and  became  quite  abashed.  "  What 
will  they  think  of  us?  "  he  thought:  and,  indeed,  Wagg 
thrust  his  tongue  in  his  cheek,  thought  the  tea  utterly 
contemptible,  and  leered  and  winked  at  Pynsent  to  that 
effect. 

But  to  Mr.  Pynsent  the  transaction  appeared  per- 
fectly simple — there  was  no  reason  present  to  his  mind 
why  people  should  not  drink  tea  at  six  if  they  were 
minded,  as  well  as  at  any  other  hour;  and  he  asked  of 
Mr.  Wagg,  when  they  went  away,  "  What  the  devil  he 
was  grinning  and  winking  at,  and  what  amused  him? " 

"  Didn't  you  see  how  the  cub  was  ashamed  of  the 
thick  bread-and-butter?  I  dare  say  they're  going  to 
have  treacle  if  they  are  good.  I'll  take  an  opportunity 
of  telling  old  Pendennis  when  we  get  back  to  town," 
Mr.  Wagg  chuckled  out. 

"  Don't  see  the  fun,"  said  Mr.  Pynsent. 

"  Never  thought  you  did,"  growled  Wagg  between 
his  teeth ;  and  they  walked  home  rather  sulkily. 

Wagg  told  the  story  at  dinner  very  smartly,  with 
wonderful  accuracy  of  observation.  He  described  old 
John,  the  clothes  that  were  drying,  the  clogs  in  the  hall, 
the  drawing-room,  and  its  furniture  and  pictures;  "  Old 
man  with  a  beak  and  bald  head— feu  Pendennis,  I  bet 


PENDENNIS  395 

two  to  one;  sticking-plaster  full-length  of  a  youth  in 
a  cap  and  gown — the  present  Marquis  of  Fairoaks, 
of  course;  the  widow  when  young  in  a  miniature, 
Mrs.  Mee;  she  had  the  gown  on  when  we  came,  or  a 
dress  made  the  year  after,  and  the  tips  cut  off  the  fin- 
gers of  her  gloves  which  she  stitches  her  son's  collars 
with ;  and  then  the  sarving  maid  came  in  with  their  teas ; 
so  we  left  the  Earl  and  the  Countess  to  their  bread-and- 
butter." 

Blanche,  near  whom  he  sate  as  he  told  this  story,  and 
who  adored  les  kommes  df  esprit ,  burst  out  laughing,  and 
called  him  such  an  odd,  droll  creature.  But  Pynsent, 
who  began  to  be  utterly  disgusted  with  him,  broke  out 
in  a  loud  voice,  and  said,  "  I  don't  know,  Mr.  Wagg, 
what  sort  of  ladies  you  are  accustomed  to  meet  in  your 
own  family,  but  by  gad,  as  far  as  a  first  acquaintance 
can  show,  I  never  met  two  better-bred  women  in  my  life, 
and  I  hope,  ma'am,  you'll  call  upon  'em,"  he  added,  ad- 
dressing Lady  Rockminster,  who  was  seated  at  Sir 
Francis  Clavering's  right  hand. 

Sir  Francis  turned  to  the  guest  on  his  left,  and  whis- 
pered, "  That's  what  I  call  a  sticker  for  Wagg."  And 
Lady  Clavering,  giving  the  young  gentleman  a  delighted 
tap  with  her  fan,  winked  her  black  eyes  at  him,  and  said, 
"  Mr.  Pynsent,  you're  a  good  feller." 

After  the  affair  with  Blanche,  a  difference  ever  so 
slight,  a  tone  of  melancholy,  perhaps  a  little  bitter,  might 
be  perceived  in  Laura's  converse  with  her  cousin.  She 
seemed  to  weigh  him,  and  find  him  wanting  too;  the 
widow  saw  the  girl's  clear  and  honest  eyes  watching  the 
young  man  at  times,  and  a  look  of  almost  scorn  pass 
over  her  face,  as  he  lounged  in  the  room  with  the  women, 
or  lazily  sauntered  smoking  upon  the  lawn,  or  lolled 


390  PENDENNIS 

under  a  tree  there  over  a  book,  which  he  was  too  listless 
to  read. 

'What  has  happened  between  you?"  eager-sighted 
Helen  asked  of  the  girl.  "  Something  has  happened. 
Has  that  wicked  little  Blanche  been  making  mischief? 
Tell  me,  Laura." 

"  Nothing  has  happened  at  all,"  Laura  said. 

*  Then  why  do  you  look  at  Pen- so?  "  asked  his  mother 
quickly. 

"  Look  at  him,  dear  mother!  "  said  the  girl.  "  We 
two  women  are  no  society  for  him:  we  don't  interest 
him ;  we  are  not  clever  enough  for  such  a  genius  as  Pen. 
He  wastes  his  life  and  energies  away  among  us,  tied  to 
our  apron-strings.  He  interests  himself  in  nothing:  he 
scarcely  cares  to  go  beyond  the  garden-gate.  Even 
Captain  Glanders  and  Captain  Strong  pall  upon  him," 
she  added  with  a  bitter  laugh ;  "  and  they  are  men  you 
know,  and  our  superiors.  He  will  never  be  happy  while 
he  is  here.  Why  is  he  not  facing  the  world,  and  without 
a  profession? " 

'  We  have  got  enough,  with  great  economy,"  said  the 
widow,  her  heart  beginning  to  beat  violently.  "  Pen  has 
spent  nothing  for  months.  I'm  sure  he  is  very  good.  I 
am  sure  he  might  be  very  happy  with  us." 

"  Don't  agitate  yourself  so,  dear  .mother,"  the  girl 
answered.  "  I  don't  like  to  see  you  so.  You  should  not 
be  sad  because  Pen  is  unhappy  here.  All  men  are  so. 
They  must  work.  They  must  make  themselves  names 
and  a  place  in  the  world.  Look,  the  two  captains  have 
fought  and  seen  battles:  that  Mr.  Pynsent,  who  came 
here,  and  who  will  be  very  rich,  is  in  a  public  office;  he 
works  very  hard,  he  aspires  to  a  name  and  a  reputation. 
He  says  Pen  was  one  of  the  best  speakers  at  Oxbridge, 


PENDENNIS  397 

and  had  as  great  a  character  for  talent  as  any  of  the 
young  gentlemen  there.  Pen  himself  laughs  at  Mr. 
Wagg's  celebrity  (and  indeed  he  is  a  horrid  person), 
and  says  he  is  a  dunce,  and  that  anybody  could  write 
his  books." 

"  I  am  sure  they  are  odious,"  interposed  the  widow. 

(  Yet  he  has  a  reputation. — You  see  the  County 
Chronicle  says,  '  The  celebrated  Mr.  Wagg  has  been  so- 
journing at  Baymouth — let  our  fashionables  and  eccen- 
trics look  out  for  something  from  his  caustic  pen.'  If 
Pen  can  write  better  than  this  gentleman,  and  speak  bet- 
ter than  Mr.  Pynsent,  why  doesn't  he?  Mamma,  he 
can't  make  speeches  to  us;  or  distinguish  himself  here. 
He  ought  to  go  away,  indeed  he  ought." 

"  Dear  Laura,"  said  Helen,  taking  the  girl's  hand. 
"  Is  it  kind  of  you  to  hurry  him  so?  I  have  been  wait- 
ing. I  have  been  saving  up  money  these  many  months 
—to — to  pay  back  your  advance  to  us." 

"  Hush,  mother!  "  Laura  cried,  embracing  her  friend 
hastily.  "  It  was  your  money,  not  mine.  Never  speak 
about  that  again.  How  much  money  have  you  saved  ?  " 

Helen  said  there  were  more  than  two  hundred  pounds 
at  the  bank,  and  that  she  would  be  enabled  to  pay  off 
all  Laura's  money  by  the  end  of  the  next  year. 

"  Give  it  him— let  him  have  the  two  hundred  pounds. 
Let  him  go  to  London  and  be  a  lawyer:  be  something, 
be  worthy  of  his  mother— and  of  mine,  dearest  mamma," 
said  the  good  girl ;  upon  which,  and  with  her  usual  ten- 
derness and  emotion,  the  fond  widow  declared  that 
Laura  was  a  blessing  to  her,  and  the  best  of  girls — and 
I  hope  no  one  in  this  instance  will  be  disposed  to  contra- 
dict her. 

The  widow  and  her  daughter  had  more  than  one  con- 


398  PENDENNIS 

versation  on  this  subject:  the  elder  gave  way  to  the 
superior  reason  of  the  honest  and  stronger  minded  girl; 
and,  indeed,  whenever  there  was  a  sacrifice  to  be  made 
on  her  part,  this  kind  lady  was  only  too  eager  to  make  it. 
But  she  took  her  own  way,  and  did  not  lose  sight  of 
the  end  she  had  in  view,  in  imparting  these  new  plans 
to  Pen.  One  day  she  told  him  of  these  projects,  and 
who  it  was  that  had  formed  them;  how  it  was  Laura 
who  insisted  upon  his  going  to  London  and  studying; 
how  it  was  Laura  who  would  not  hear  of  the — the  money 
arrangements  when  he  came  back  from  Oxbridge— be- 
ing settled  just  then:  how  it  was  Laura  whom  he  had  to 
thank,  if  indeed  he  thought  he  ought  to  go. 

At  that  news  Pen's  countenance  blazed  up  with  plea- 
sure, and  he  hugged  his  mother  to  his  heart  with  an 
ardour  that  I  fear  disappointed  the  fond  lady;  but  she 
rallied  when  he  said,  "  By  Heaven !  she  is  a  noble  girl, 
and  may  God  Almighty  bless  her!  Oh  mother!  I  have 
been  wearying  myself  away  for  months  here,  longing 
to  work,  and  not  knowing  how.  I've  been  fretting  over 
the  thoughts  of  my  shame,  and  my  debts,  and  my  past 
cursed  extravagance  and  follies.  I've  suffered  infer- 
nally. My  heart  has  been  half -broken — never  mind 
about  that.  If  I  can  get  a  chance  to  redeem  the  past, 
and  to  do  my  duty  to  myself  and  the  best  mother  in  the 
world,  indeed,  indeed,  I  will.  I'll  be  worthy  of  you  yet. 
Heaven  bless  you!  God  bless  Laura!  Why  isn't  she 
here,  that  I  may  go  and  thank  her?  "  Pen  went  on  with 
more  incoherent  phrases ;  paced  up  and  down  the  room, 
drank  glasses  of  water,  jumped  about  his  mother  with 
a  thousand  embraces— began  to  laugh— began  to  sing- 
was  happier  than  she  had  seen  him  since  he  was  a  boy 
-since  he  had  tasted  of  the  fruit  of  that  awful  Tree 


PENDENNIS  399 

of  Life  which,  from  the  beginning,  has  tempted  all  man- 
kind. 

Laura  was  not  at  home.  Laura  was  on  a  visit  to  the 
stately  Lady  Rockminster,  daughter  to  my  Lord  Bare- 
acres,  sister  to  the  late  Lady  Pontypool,  and  by  conse- 
quence a  distant  kinswoman  of  Helen's,  as  her  ladyship, 
who  was  deeply  versed  in  genealogy,  was  the  first  gra- 
ciously to  point  out  to  the  modest  country  lady.  Mr. 
Pen  was  greatly  delighted  at  the  relationship  being  ac- 
knowledged, though  perhaps  not  over  well  pleased  that 
Lady  Rockminster  took  Miss  Bell  home  with  her  for  a 
couple  of  days  to  Baymouth,  and  did  not  make  the 
slightest  invitation  to  Mr.  Arthur  Pendennis.  There 
was  to  be  a  ball  at  Baymouth,  and  it  was  to  be  Miss 
Laura's  first  appearance.  The  dowager  came  to  fetch 
her  in  her  carriage,  and  she  went  off  with  a  white  dress 
in  her  box,  happy  and  blushing,  like  the  rose  to  which 
Pen  compared  her. 

This  was  the  night  of  the  ball— a  public  entertainment 
at  the  Baymouth  Hotel.  "  By  Jove!  "  said  Pen,  "  I'll 
ride  over — No,  I  won't  ride,  but  I'll  go  too."  His 
mother  was  charmed  that  he  should  do  so;  and,  as  he 
was  debating  about  the  conveyance  in  which  he  should 
start  for  Baymouth,  Captain  Strong  called  opportunely, 
said  he  was  going  himself,  and  that  he  would  put  his 
horse,  The  Butcher  Boy,  into  the  gig,  and  drive  Pen 
over. 

When  the  grand  company  began  to  fill  the  house  at 
Clavering  Park,  the  Chevalier  Strong  seldom  intruded 
himself  upon  its  society,  but  went  elsewhere  to  seek  his 
relaxation.  '  I've  seen  plenty  of  grand  dinners  in  my 
time,"  he  said,  "  and  dined,  by  Jove,  in  a  company  where 


400  PENDENNIS 

there  was  a  king  and  royal  duke  at  top  and  bottom, 
and  every  man  along  the  table  had  six  stars  on  his  coat ; 
but  dammy,  Glanders,  this  finery  don't  suit  me ;  and  the 
English  ladies  with  their  confounded  buckram  airs,  and 
the  squires  with  their  politics  after  dinner,  send  me  to 
sleep— sink  me  dead  if  they  don't.  I  like  a  place  where 
I  can  blow  my  cigar  when  the  cloth  is  removed,  and 
when  I'm  thirsty,  have  my  beer  in  its  native  pewter." 
So  on  a  gala  day  at  Clavering  Park,  the  Chevalier  would 
content  himself  with  superintending  the  arrangements 
of  the  table,  and  drilling  the  major-domo  and  servants; 
and  having  looked  over  the  bill  of  fare  with  Monsieur 
Mirobolant,  would  not  care  to  take  the  least  part  in 
the  banquet.  "  Send  me  up  a  cutlet  and  a  bottle  of 
claret  to  my  room,"  this  philosopher  would  say,  and 
from  the  windows  of  that  apartment,  which  commanded 
the  terrace  and  avenue,  he  would  survey  the  company 
as  they  arrived  in  their  carriages,  or  take  a  peep  at  the 
ladies  in  the  hall  through  an  oeil-de-boeuf  which  com- 
manded it  from  his  corridor.  And  the  guests  being 
seated,  Strong  would  cross  the  park  to  Captain  Glan- 
ders's  cottage  at  Clavering,  or  to  pay  the  landlady  a  visit 
at  the  Clavering  Arms,  or  to  drop  in  upon  Madame 
Fribsby  over 'her  novel  and  tea.  Wherever  the  Cheva- 
lier went  he  was  welcome,  and  whenever  he  came  away 
a  smell  of  hot  brandy  and  water  lingered  behind  him. 

The  Butcher  Boy— not  the  worst  horse  in  Sir  Francis's 
stable— was  appropriated  to  Captain  Strong's  express 
use;  and  the  old  Campaigner  saddled  him  and  brought 
him  home  at  all  hours  of  the  day  or  night,  and  drove  or 
rode  him  up  and  down  the  country.  Where  there  was 
a  public-house  with  a  good  tap  of  beer— where  there  was 
a  tenant  with  a  pretty  daughter  who  played  on  the  piano 


PENDENNIS  401 

—to  Chatteris,  to  the  play,  or  the  barracks— to  Bay- 
mouth,  if  any  fun  was  on  foot  there;  to  the  rural  fairs 
or  races,  the  Chevalier  and  his  brown  horse  made  their 
way  continually;  and  this  worthy  gentleman  lived  at 
free  quarters  in  a  friendly  country.  The  Butcher  Boy 
soon  took  Pen  and  the  Chevalier  to  Baymouth.  The 
latter  was  as  familiar  with  the  hotel  and  landlord  there 
as  with  every  other  inn  round  about;  and  having  been 
accommodated  with  a  bed-room  to  dress,  they  entered 
the  ball-room.  The  Chevalier  was  splendid.  He  wore 
three  little  gold  crosses  in  a  brochette  on  the  portly  breast 
of  his  blue  coat,  and  looked  like  a  foreign  field-marshal. 

The  ball  was  public  and  all  sorts  of  persons  were 
admitted  and  encouraged  to  come,  young  Pynsent  hav- 
ing views  upon  the  county,  and  Lady  Rockminster  being 
patroness  of  the  ball.  There  was  a  quadrille  for  the 
aristocracy  at  one  end,  and  select  benches  for  the  people 
of  fashion.  Towards  this  end  the  Chevalier  did  not  care 
to  penetrate  far  (as  he  said  he  did  not  care  for  the  nobs)  ; 
but  in  the  other  part  of  the  room  he  knew  everybody — 
the  wine-merchants',  innkeepers',  tradesmen's,  solicitors', 
squire-farmers'  daughters,  their  sires  and  brothers,  and 
plunged  about  shaking  hands. 

'  Who  is  that  man  with  the  blue  ribbon  and  the  three- 
pointed  star?  "  asked  Pen.  A  gentleman  in  black  with 
ringlets  and  a  tuft  stood  gazing  fiercely  about  him,  with 
one  hand  in  the  arm-hole  of  his  waistcoat  and  the  other 
holding  his  claque. 

"By  Jupiter,  it's  Mirobolant ! "  cried  Strong,  burst- 
ing out  laughing.  "  Bon  jour,  Chef !— Bon  jour,  Cheva- 
lier! " 

"  De  la  croix  de  Juillet,  Chevalier! "  said  the  Chef, 
laying  his  hand  on  his  decoration. 


402  PENDENNIS 

"By  Jove,  here's  some  more  ribbon!"  said  Pen, 
amused. 

A  man  with  very  black  hair  and  whiskers,  dyed  evi- 
dently with  the  purple  of  Tyre,  with  twinkling  eyes  and 
white  eyelashes,  and  a  thousand  wrinkles  in  his  face, 
which  was  of  a  strange  red  colour,  with  two  under-vests 
and  large  gloves  and  hands,  and  a  profusion  of  diamonds 
and  jewels  in  his  waistcoat  and  stock,  with  coarse  feet 
crumpled  into  immense  shiny  boots,  and  a  piece  of  parti- 
coloured ribbon  in  his  button-hole,  here  came  up  and 
nodded  familiarly  to  the  Chevalier. 

The  Chevalier  shook  hands.  "  My  friend  Mr.  Pen- 
dennis,"  Strong  said.  "  Colonel  Altamont,  of  the  body- 
guard of  his  Highness  the  Nawaub  of  Lucknow."  That 
officer  bowed  to  the  salute  of  Pen ;  who  was  now  looking 
out  eagerly  to  see  if  the  person  he  wanted  had  entered 
the  room. 

Not  yet.  But  the  band  began  presently  performing 
"  See  the  Conquering  Hero  comes,"  and  a  host  of  fash- 
ionables—Dowager Countess  of  Rockminster,  Mr.  Pyn- 
sent  and  Miss  Bell,  Sir  Francis  Clavering,  Bart.,  of 
Clavering  Park,  Lady  Clavering  and  Miss  Amory,  Sir 
Horace  Fogey,  Bart.,  Lady  Fogey,  Colonel  and  Mrs. 
Higgs, Wagg,  Esq.  (as  the  county  paper  after- 
wards described  them) ,  entered  the  room. 

Pen  rushed  by  Blanche,  ran  up  to  Laura,  and  seized 
her  hand.  "  God  bless  you!  "  he  said,  "  I  want  to  speak 
to  you — I  must  speak  to  you — Let  me  dance  with  you." 
"  Not  for  three  dances,  dear  Pen,"  she  said,  smiling: 
and  he  fell  back,  biting  his  nails  with  vexation,  and  for- 
getting to  salute  Pynsent. 

After  Lady  Rockminster's  party,  Lady  Clavering's 
followed  in  the  procession. 


PENDENNIS  403 

Colonel  Altamont  eyed  it  hard,  holding  a  most  musky 
pocket-handkerchief  up  to  his  face,  and  bursting  with 
laughter  behind  it. 

"  Who's  the  gal  in  green  along  with  'em,  Cap'n? "  he 
asked  of  Strong. 

"  That's  Miss  Amory,  Lady  Clavering's  daughter," 
replied  the  Chevalier. 

The  Colonel  could  hardly  contain  himself  for  laugh- 
ing. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 


CONTAINS  SOME  BALL-PRACTISING 

NDER  some  calico  dra- 
peries in  the  shady  em- 
brasure of  a  window, 
Arthur  Pendennis 
chose  to  assume  a  very 
gloomy  and  frowning 
countenance,  and  to 
watch  Miss  Bell  dance 
her  first  quadrille  with 
Mr.  Pynsent  for  a 
partner.  Miss  Laura's 
face  was  beaming  with 
pleasure  and  good- 
nature. The  lights 
and  the  crowd  and 
music  excited  her.  As 
she  spread  out  her  white  robes,  and  performed  her 
part  of  the  dance,  smiling  and  happy,  her  brown 
ringlets  flowing  back  over  her  fair  shoulders  from  her 
honest  rosy  face,  more  than  one  gentleman  in  the  room 
admired  and  looked  after  her;  and  Lady  Fogey,  who 
had  a  house  in  London,  and  gave  herself  no  small  airs 
of  fashion  when  in  the  country,  asked  of  Lady  Rock- 
minster  who  the  young  person  was,  mentioned  a  reign- 
ing beauty  in  London  whom,  in  her  ladyship's  opinion, 
Laura  was  rather  like,  and  pronounced  that  she  would 
"  do." 

404 


PENDENNIS  405 

Lady  Rockminster  would  have  been  very  much  sur- 
prised if  any  protege  of  hers  would  not  "  do,"  and  won- 
dered at  Lady  Fogey's  impudence  in  judging  upon  the 
point  at  all.  She  surveyed  Laura  with  majestic  glances 
through  her  eye-glass.  She  was  pleased  with  the  girl's 
artless  looks,  and  gay  innocent  manner.  Her  manner  is 
very  good,  her  ladyship  thought.  Her  arms  are  rather 
red,  but  that  is  a  defect  of  her  youth.  Her  ton  is  far 
better  than  that  of  the  little  pert  Miss  Amory,  who  is 
dancing  opposite  to  her. 

Miss  Blanche  was,  indeed,  the  vis-a-vis  of  Miss  Laura, 
and  smiled  most  killingly  upon  her  dearest  friend,  and 
nodded  to  her,  and  talked  to  her,  when  they  met  during 
the  quadrille  evolutions,  and  patronised  her  a  great  deal. 
Her  shoulders  were  the  whitest  in  the  whole  room :  and 
they  were  never  easy  in  her  frock  for  one  single  instant : 
nor  were  her  eyes,  which  rolled  about  incessantly:  nor 
was  her  little  figure : — it  seemed  to  say  to  all  the  people, 
"  Come  and  look  at  me — not  at  that  pink,  healthy,  bounc- 
ing country  lass,  Miss  Bell,  who  scarcely  knew  how  to 
dance  till  I  taught  her.  This  is  the  true  Parisian  man- 
ner— this  is  the  prettiest  little  foot  in  the  room,  and  the 
prettiest  little  chaussure,  too.  Look  at  it,  Mr.  Pynsent, 
Look  at  it,  Mr.  Pendennis,  you  who  are  scowling  behind 
the  curtain — I  know  you  are  longing  to  dance  with  me." 

Laura  went  on  dancing,  and  keeping  an  attentive 
eye  upon  Mr.  Pen  in  the  embrasure  of  the  window.  He 
did  not  quit  that  retirement  during  the  first  quadrille, 
nor  until  the  second,  when  the  good-natured  Lady  Clav- 
ering  beckoned  to  him  to  come  up  to  her  to  the  dais  or 
place  of  honour  where  the  dowagers  were,  and  whither 
Pen  went  blushing  and  exceedingly  awkward,  as  most 
conceited  young  fellows  are.  He  performed  a  haughty 


406  PENDEXNIS 

salutation  to  Lady  Rockminster,  who  hardly  acknow- 
ledged his  bow,  and  then  went  and  paid  his  respects  to  the 
widow  of  the  late  Amory,  who  was  splendid  in  diamonds, 
velvet,  lace,  feathers,  and  all  sorts  of  millinery  and  gold- 
smith's ware. 

Young  Mr.  Fogey,  then  in  the  fifth  form  at  Eton, 
and  ardently  expecting  his  beard  and  his  commission 
in  a  dragoon  regiment,  was  the  second  partner  who  was 
honoured  with  Miss  Bell's  hand.  He  was  rapt  in  ad- 
miration of  that  young  lady.  He  thought  he  had  never 
seen  so  charming  a  creature.  "  I  like  you  much  better 
than  the  French  girl"  (for  this  young  gentleman  had 
been  dancing  with  Miss  Amory  before) ,  he  candidly  said 
to  her.  Laura  laughed,  and  looked  more' good-humoured 
than  ever;  and  in  the  midst  of  her  laughter  caught  a 
sight  of  Pen,  and  continued  to  laugh  as  he,  on  his  side, 
continued  to  look  absurdly  pompous  and  sulky.  The 
next  dance  was  a  waltz,  and  young  Fogey  thought,  with 
a  sigh,  that  he  did  not  know  how  to  waltz,  and  vowed 
he  would  have  a  master  the  next  holidays. 

Mr.  Pynsent  again  claimed  Miss  Bell's  hand  for  this 
dance ;  and  Pen  beheld  her,  in  a  fury,  twirling  round  the 
room,  her  waist  encircled  by  the  arm  of  that  gentleman. 
He  never  used  to  be  angry  before  when,  on  summer 
evenings,  the  chairs  and  tables  being  removed,  and  the 
governess  called  down  stairs  to  play  the  piano,  he  and 
the  Chevalier  Strong  (who  was  a  splendid  performer, 
and  could  dance  a  British  hornpipe,  a  German  waltz, 
or  a  Spanish  fandango,  if  need  were) ,  and  the  two  young 
ladies,  Blanche  and  Laura,  improvised  little  balls  at 
Clavering  Park.  Laura  enjoyed  this  dancing  so  much, 
and  was  so  animated,  that  she  even  animated  Mr.  Pyn- 
sent. Blanche,  who  could  dance  beautifully,  had  an 


PENDENNIS  407 

unlucky  partner,  Captain  Broadfoot,  of  the  Dragoons, 
then  stationed  at  Chatteris.  For  Captain  Broadfoot, 
though  devoting  himself  with  great  energy  to  the  object 
in  view,  could  not  get  round  in  time :  and,  not  having  the 
least  ear  for  music,  was  unaware  that  his  movements 
were  too  slow. 

So,  in  the  waltz  as  in  the  quadrille,  Miss  Blanche  saw 
that  her  dear  friend  Laura  had  the  honours  of  the  dance, 
and  was  by  no  means  pleased  with  the  latter's  success. 
After  a  couple  of  turns  with  the  heavy  dragoon,  she 
pleaded  fatigue,  and  requested  to  be  led  back  to  her 
place,  near  her  mamma,  to  whom  Pen  was  talking :  and 
she  asked  him  why  he  had  not  asked  her  to  waltz,  and 
had  left  her  to  the  mercies  of  that  great  odious  man  in 
spurs  and  a  red  coat? 

"  I  thought  spurs  and  scarlet  were  the  most  fascinat- 
ing objects  in  the  world  to  young  ladies,"  Pen  answered. 
"  I  never  should  have  dared  to  put  my  black  coat  in  com- 
petition with  that  splendid  red  jacket." 

"  You  are  very  unkind  and  cruel  and  sulky  and 
naughty,"  said  Miss  Amory,  with  another  shrug  of  the 
shoulders.  '  You  had  better  go  away.  Your  cousin  is 
looking  at  us  over  Mr.  Pynsent's  shoulder." 

"  Will  you  waltz  with  me?  "  said  Pen. 

"  Not  this  waltz.  I  can't,  having  just  sent  away  that 
great  hot  Captain  Broadfoot.  Look  at  Mr.  Pynsent, 
did  you  ever  see  such  a  creature?  But  I  will  dance  the 
next  waltz  with  you,  and  the  quadrille  too.  I  am  prom- 
ised, but  I  will  tell  Mr.  Poole  that  I  had  forgotten  my 
engagement  to  you." 

"  Women  forget  very  readily,"  Pendennis  said. 

"  But  they  always  come  back,  and  are  very  repentant 
and  sorry  for  what  they've  done*"  Blanche  said.  "  See, 


408  PENDENNIS 

here  comes  the  Poker,  and  dear  Laura  leaning  on  him. 
How  pretty  she  looks !  " 

Laura  came  up,  and  put  out  her  hand  to  Pen,  to 
whom  Pynsent  made  a  sort  of  bow,  appearing  to  be 
not  much  more  graceful  than  that  domestic  instrument 
to  which  Miss  Amory  compared  him. 

But  Laura's  face  was  full  of  kindness.  "  I  am  so 
glad  you  have  come,  dear  Pen,"  she  said.  "  I  can  speak 
to  you  now.  How  is  mamma?  The  three  dances  are 
over,  and  I  am  engaged  to  you  for  the  next,  Pen." 

"  I  have  just  engaged  myself  to  Miss  Amory,"  said 
Pen ;  and  Miss  Amory  nodded  her  head,  and  made  her 
usual  little  curtsey.  "  I  don't  intend  to  give  him  up, 
dearest  Laura,"  she  said. 

'  Well,  then,  he'll  waltz  with  me,  dear  Blanche,"  said 
the  other.  "  Won't  you,  Pen?  " 

"  I  promised  to  waltz  with  Miss  Amory." 

"  Provoking! "  said  Laura,  and  making  a  curtsey  in 
her  turn,  she  went  and  placed  herself  under  the  ample 
wing  of  Lady  Rockminster. 

Pen  was  delighted  with  his  mischief.  The  two  pretti- 
est girls  in  the  room  were  quarrelling  about  him.  He 
flattered  himself  he  had  punished  Miss  Laura.  He 
leaned  in  a  dandified  air,  with  his  elbow  over  the  wall, 
and  talked  to  Blanche:  he  quizzed  unmercifully  all  the 
men  in  the  room— the  heavy  dragoons  in  their  tight 
jackets — the  country  dandies  in  their  queer  attire— the 
strange  toilettes  of  the  ladies.  One  seemed  to  have  a 
bird's  nest  in  her  head ;  another  had  six  pounds  of  grapes 
in  her  hair,  besides  her  false  pearls.  "  It's  a  coiffure  of 
almonds  and  raisins,"  said  Pen,  "  and  might  be  served 
up  for  dessert."  In  a  word,  he  was  exceedingly  satirical 
and  amusing. 


PENDENNIS  409 

During  the  quadrille  he  carried  on  this  kind  of  con- 
versation with  unflinching  bitterness  and  vivacity,  and 
kept  Blanche  continually  laughing,  both  at  his  wicked- 
ness and  jokes,  which  were  good,  and  also  because 
Laura  was  again  their  vis-a-vis,  and  could  see  and  hear 
how  merry  and  confidential  they  were. 

"  Arthur  is  charming  to-night,"  she  whispered  to 
Laura,  across  Cornet  Perch's  shell  jacket,  as  Pen 
was  performing  cavalier  seul  before  them,  drawling 
through  that  figure  with  a  thumb  in  the  pocket  of  each 
waistcoat. 

ff  Who?  "  said  Laura. 

"  Arthur,"  answered  Blanche,  in  French.  "  Oh,  it's 
such  a  pretty  name!  "  And  now  the  young  ladies  went 
over  to  Pen's  side,  and  Cornet  Perch  performed  a  pas 
seul  in  his  turn.  He  had  no  waistcoat  pocket  to  put  his 
hands  into,  and  they  looked  large  and  swollen  as  they 
hung  before  him  depending  from  the  tight  arms  in  the 
jacket. 

During  the  interval  between  the  quadrille  and  the 
succeeding  waltz,  Pen  did  not  take  any  notice  of  Laura, 
except  to  ask  her  whether  her  partner,  Cornet  Perch, 
was  an  amusing  youth,  and  whether  she  liked  him  so 
well  as  her  other  partner,  Mr.  Pynsent.  Having  planted 
which  two  daggers  in  Laura's  bosom,  Mr.  Pendennis 
proceeded  to  rattle  on  with  Blanche  Amory,  and  to  make 
jokes  good  or  bad,  but  which  were  always  loud.  Laura 
was  at  a  loss  to  account  for  her  cousin's  sulky  behaviour, 
and  ignorant  in  what  she  had  offended  him;  however, 
she  was  not  angry  in  her  turn  at  Pen's  splenetic  mood,  for 
she  was  the  most  good-natured  and  forgiving  of  women, 
and  besides,  an  exhibition  of  jealousy  on  a  man's  part 
is  not  always  disagreeable  to  a  lady. 


410  PENDENNIS 

As  Pen  could  not  dance  with  her,  she  was  glad  to  take 
up  with  the  active  Chevalier  Strong,  who  was  a  still 
better  performer  than  Pen;  and  being  very  fond  of 
dancing,  as  every  brisk  and  innocent  young  girl  should 
be,  when  the  waltz  music  began  she  set  off,  and  chose 
to  enjoy  herself  with  all  her  heart.  Captain  Broadfoot 
on  this  occasion  occupied  the  floor  in  conjunction  with 
a  lady  of  proportions  scarcely  inferior  to  his  own; 
Miss  Roundle,  a  large  young  woman  in  a  strawberry- 
ice  coloured  crape  dress,  the  daughter  of  the  lady 
with  the  grapes  in  her  head,  whose  bunches  Pen  had 
admired. 

And  now  taking  his  time,  and  with  his  fair  partner 
Blanche  hanging  lovingly  on  the  arm  which  encircled 
her,  Mr.  Arthur  Pendennis  set  out  upon  his  waltzing 
career,  and  felt,  as  he  whirled  round  to  the  music,  that  he 
and  Blanche  were  performing  very  brilliantly  indeed. 
Very  likely  he  looked  to  see  if  Miss  Bell  thought  so  too ; 
but  she  did  not  or  would  not  see  him,  and  was  always  en- 
gaged with  her  partner  Captain  Strong.  But  Pen's  tri- 
umph was  not  destined  to  last  long:  and  it  was  doomed 
that  poor  Blanche  was  to  have  yet  another  discomfiture 
on  that  unfortunate  night.  While  she  and  Pen  were 
whirling  round  as  light  and  brisk  as  a  couple  of  opera- 
dancers,  honest  Captain  Broadfoot  and  the  lady  round 
whose  large  waist  he  was  clinging,  were  twisting  round 
very  leisurely  according  to  their  natures,  and  indeed  were 
in  everybody's  way.  But  they  were  more  in  Pendennis's 
way  than  in  anybody's  else,  for  he  and  Blanche,  whilst 
executing  their  rapid  gyrations,  came  bolt  up  against 
the  heavy  dragoon  and  his  lady,  and  with  such  force 
that  the  centre  of  gravity  was  lost  by  all  four  of  the 
circumvolving  bodies;  Captain  Broadfoot  and  Miss 
Roundle  were  fairly  upset,  as  was  Pen  himself,  who  was 


PENDENNIS  411 

less  lucky  than  his  partner  Miss  Amory,  who  was  only 
thrown  upon  a  bench  against  a  wall. 

But  Pendennis  came  fairly  down  upon  the  floor, 
sprawling  in  the  general  ruin  with  Broadfoot  and  Miss 
Roundle.  The  Captain,  though  heavy,  was  good-na- 
tured, and  was  the  first  to  burst  out  into  a  loud  laugh 
at  his  own  misfortune,  which  nobody  therefore  heeded. 
But  Miss  Amory  was  savage  at  her  mishap;  Miss 
Roundle  placed  on  her  scant,  and  looking  pitifully 
round,  presented  an  object  which  very  few  people  could 
see  without  laughing;  and  Pen  was  furious  when  he 
heard  the  people  giggling  about  him.  He  was  one  of 
those  sarcastic  young  fellows  that  did  not  bear  a  laugh 
at  his  own  expense,  and  of  all  things  in  the  world  feared 
ridicule  most. 

As  he  got  up  Laura  and  Strong  were  laughing  at 
him ;  everybody  was  laughing ;  Pynsent  and  his  partner 
were  laughing;  and  Pen  boiled  with  wrath  against  the 
pair,  and  could  have  stabbed  them  both  on  the  spot. 
He  turned  away  in  a  fury  from  them,  and  began  blun- 
dering out  apologies  to  Miss  Amory.  It  was  the  other 
couple's  fault— the  woman  in  pink  had  done  it — Pen 
hoped  Miss  Amory  was  not  hurt — would  she  not  have 
the  courage  to  take  another  turn? 

Miss  Amory  in  a  pet  said  she  was  very  much  hurt 
indeed,  and  she  would  not  take  another  turn;  and  she 
accepted  with  great  thanks  a  glass  of  water  which  a  cav- 
alier, who  wore  a  blue  ribbon  and  a  three-pointed  star, 
rushed  to  fetch  for  her  when  he  had  seen  the  deplorable 
accident.  She  drank  the  water,  smiled  upon  the  bringer 
gracefully,  and  turning  her  white  shoulder  at  Mr.  Pen 
in  the  most  marked  and  haughty  manner,  besought  the 
gentleman  with  the  star  to  conduct  her  to  her  mamma; 
and  she  held  out  her  hand  in  order  to  take  his  arm. 


412  PENDENNIS 

The  man  with  the  star  trembled  with  delight  at  this 
mark  of  her  favour;  he  bowed  over  her  hand,  pressed 
it  to  his  coat  fervidly,  and  looked  round  him  with 
triumph. 

It  was  no  other  than  the  happy  Mirobolant  whom 
Blanche  had  selected  as  an  escort.  But  the  truth  is,  that 
the  young  lady  had  never  fairly  looked  in  the  artist's 
face  since  he  had  been  employed  in  her  mother's  family, 
and  had  no  idea  but  it  was  a  foreign  nobleman  on  whose 
arm  she  was  leaning.  As  she  went  off,  Pen  forgot  his 
humiliation  in  his  surprise,  and  cried  out,  "  By  Jove,  it's 
the  cook!" 

The  instant  he  had  uttered  the  words,  he  was  sorry  for 
having  spoken  them — for  it  was  Blanche  who  had  her- 
self invited  Mirobolant  to  escort  her,  nor  could  the  artist 
do  otherwise  than  comply  with  a  lady's  command. 
Blanche  in  her  flutter  did  not  hear  what  Arthur  said; 
but  Mirobolant  heard  him,  and  cast  a  furious  glance  at 
him  over  his  shoulder,  which  rather  amused  Mr.  Pen. 
He  was  in  a  mischievous  and  sulky  humour;  wanting 
perhaps  to  pick  a  quarrel  with  somebody;  but  the  idea 
of  having  insulted  a  cook,  or  that  such  an  individual 
should  have  any  feeling  of  honour  at  all,  did  not  much 
enter  into  the  mind  of  this  lofty  young  aristocrat,  the 
apothecary's  son. 

It  had  never  entered  that  poor  artist's  head,  that  he 
as  a  man  was  not  equal  to  any  other  mortal,  or  that  there 
was  anything  in  his  position  so  degrading  as  to  prevent 
him  from  giving  his  arm  to  a  lady  who  asked  for  it.  He 
had  seen  in  the  fetes  in  his  own  country  fine  ladies,  not 
certainly  demoiselles  (but  the  demoiselle  Anglaise  he 
knew  was  a  great  deal  more  free  than  the  spinster  in 
France),  join  in  the  dance  with  Blaise  or  Pierre;  and 


PENDENNIS  413 

he  would  have  taken  Blanche  up  to  Lady  Clavering, 
and  possibly  have  asked  her  to  dance  too,  but  he  heard 
Pen's  exclamation,  which  struck  him  as  if  it  had  shot 
him,  and  cruelly  humiliated  and  angered  him.  She  did 
not  know  what  caused  him  to  start,  and  to  grind  a  Gas- 
con oath  between  his  teeth. 

But  Strong,  who  was  acquainted  with  the  poor  fel- 
low's state  of  mind,  having  had  the  interesting  informa- 
tion from  our  friend  Madame  Fribsby,  was  luckily  in 
the  way  when  wanted,  and  saying  something  rapidly  in 
Spanish,  which  the  other  understood,  the  Chevalier 
begged  Miss  Amory  to  come  and  take  an  ice  before  she 
went  back  to  Lady  Clavering.  Upon  which  the  un- 
happy Mirobolant  relinquished  the  arm  which  he  had 
held  for  a  minute,  and  with  a  most  profound  and  piteous 
bow,  fell  back.  "  Don't  you  know  who  it  is?  "  Strong 
asked  of  Miss  Amory,  as  he  led  her  away.  "  It  is  the 
chef  Mirobolant." 

"  How  should  I  know?  "  asked  Blanche.  "  He  has 
a  croix;  he  is  very  distingue;  he  has  beautiful  eyes." 

"  The  poor  fellow  is  mad  for  your  beaux  yeux,  I  be- 
lieve," Strong  said.  "  He  is  a  very  good  cook,  but  he 
is  not  quite  right  in  the  head." 

"  What  did  you  say  to  him  in  the  unknown  tongue?  " 
asked  Miss  Blanche. 

"  He  is  a  Gascon,  and  comes  from  the  borders  of 
Spain,"  Strong  answered.  "  I  told  him  he  would  lose 
his  place  if  he  walked  with  you." 

"  Poor  Monsieur  Mirobolant !  "  said  Blanche. 

"  Did  you  see  the  look  he  gave  Pendennis?  "  —Strong 
asked,  enjoying  the  idea  of  the  mischief-  '  I  think  he 
would  like  to  run  little  Pen  through  with  one  of  his 
spits." 


414  PENDENNIS 

"  He  is  an  odious,  conceited,  clumsy  creature,  that 
Mr.  Pen,"  said  Blanche. 

"  Broadfoot  looked  as  if  he  would  like  to  kill  him  too, 
so  did  Pynsent,"  Strong  said.  '  What  ice  will  you 
have— water  ice  or  cream  ice?  " 

'  Water  ice.  Who  is  that  odd  man  staring  at  me— he 
is  decore  too." 

'  That  is  my  friend  Colonel  Altamont,  a  very  queer 
character,  in  the  service  of  the  Nawaub  of  Lucknow. 
Hallo!  what's  that  noise?  I'll  be  back  in  an  instant," 
said  the  Chevalier,  and  sprang  out  of  the  room  to  the 
ball-room,  where  a  scuffle  and  a  noise  of  high  voices  was 
heard. 

The  refreshment-room,  in  which  Miss  Amory  now 
found  herself,  was  a  room  set  apart  for  the  purposes  of 
supper,  which  Mr.  Rincer  the  landlord  had  provided 
for  those  who  chose  to  partake,  at  the  rate  of  five  shil- 
lings per  head.  Also,  refreshments  of  a  superior  class 
were  here  ready  for  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  of  the 
county  families  who  came  to  the  ball;  but  the  com- 
moner sort  of  persons  were  kept  out  of  the  room  by  a 
waiter  who  stood  at  the  portal,  and  who  said  that  was 
a  select  room  for  Lady  Clavering  and  Lady  Rockmin- 
ster's  parties,  and  not  to  be  opened  to  the  public  till 
supper-time,  which  was  not  to  be  until  past  midnight. 
Pynsent,  who  danced  with  his  constituents'  daughters, 
took  them  and  their  mammas  in  for  their  refreshment 
there.  Strong,  who  was  manager  and  master  of  the 
revels  wherever  he  went,  had  of  course  the  entree— and 
the  only  person  who  was  now  occupying  the  room,  was 
the  gentleman  with  the  black  wig  and  the  orders  in  his 
button-hole;  the  officer  in  the  service  of  his  Highness 
the  Xawaub  of  Lucknow. 


PENDENNIS 


415 


This  gentleman  had  established  himself  very  early 
in  the  evening  in  this  apartment,  where,  saying  he  was 
confoundedly  thirsty,  he  called  for  a  bottle  of  cham- 


pagne. At  this  order,  the  waiter  instantly  supposed 
that  he  had  to  do  with  a  grandee,  and  the  Colonel  sate 
down  and  began  to  eat  his  supper  and  absorb  his  drink, 
and  enter  affably  into  conversation  with  anybody  who 
entered  the  room. 

Sir  Francis  Clavering  and  Mr.  Wagg  found  him 
there;  when  they  left  the  ball-room,  which  they  did 


416  PENDENNIS 

pretty  early—  Sir  Francis  to  go  and  smoke  a  cigar,  and 
look  at  the  people  gathered  outside  the  ball-room  on  the 
shore,  which  he  declared  was  much  better  fun  than  to 
remain  within;  Mr.  Wagg  to  hang  on  to  a  Baronet's 
arm,  as  he  was  always  pleased  to  do  on  the  arm  of  the 
greatest  man  in  the  company.  Colonel  Altamont  had 
stared  at  these  gentlemen  in  so  odd  a  manner,  as  they 
passed  through  the  "  Select  "  room,  that  Clavering  made 
inquiries  of  the  landlord  who  he  was,  and  hinted  a  strong 
opinion  that  the  officer  of  the  Nawaub's  service  was 
drunk. 

Mr.  Pynsent,  too,  had  had  the  honour  of  a  conversa- 
tion with  the  servant  of  the  Indian  potentate.  It  was 
Pynsent's  cue  to  speak  to  everybody;  (which  he  did,  to 
do  him  justice,  in  the  most  ungracious  manner;)  and  he 
took  the  gentleman  in  the  black  wig  for  some  constitu- 
ent, some  merchant  captain,  or  other  outlandish  man 
of  the  place.  Mr.  Pynsent,  then,  coming  into  the  re- 
freshment-room with  a  lady,  the  wife  of  a  constituent, 
on  his  arm,  the  Colonel  asked  him  if  he  would  try  a  glass 
of  Sham?  Pynsent  took  it  with  great  gravity,  bowed, 
tasted  the  wine,  and  pronounced  it  excellent,  and  with 
the  utmost  politeness  retreated  before  Colonel  Altamont. 
This  gravity  and  decorum  routed  and  surprised  the 
Colonel  more  than  any  other  kind  of  behaviour  proba- 
bly would:  he  stared  after  Pynsent  stupidly,  and  pro- 
nounced to  the  landlord  over  the  counter  that  he  was  a 
rum  one.  Mr.  Rincer  blushed,  and  hardly  knew  what 
to  say.  Mr.  Pynsent  was  a  county  Earl's  grandson, 
going  to  set  up  as  a  Parliament  man.  Colonel  Alta- 
mont, on  the  other  hand,  wore  orders  and  diamonds, 
jingled  sovereigns  constantly  in  his  pocket,  and  paid  his 
way  like  a  man ;  so  not  knowing  what  to  say,  Mr.  Rincer 


PENDENNIS  417 

said,  "  Yes,  Colonel— yes,  ma'am,  did  you  say  tea?  Cup 
a  tea  for  Mr.  Jones,  Mrs.  R.,"  and  so  got  off  that  dis- 
cussion regarding  Mr.  Pynsent's  qualities,  into  which 
the  Nizam's  officer  appeared  inclined  to  enter. 

In  fact,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  Mr.  Altamont,  hav- 
ing remained  at  the  buffet  almost  all  night,  and  em- 
ployed himself  very  actively  whilst  there,  had  consid- 
erably flushed  his  brain  by  drinking,  and  he  was  still 
going  on  drinking,  when  Mr.  Strong  and  Miss  Amory 
entered  the  room. 

When  the  Chevalier  ran  out  of  the  apartment,  at- 
tracted by  the  noise  in  the  dancing-room,  the  Colonel 
rose  from  his  chair  with  his  little  red  eyes  glowing  like 
coals,  and,  with  rather  an  unsteady  gait,  advanced 
towards  Blanche,  who  was  sipping  her  ice.  She  was 
absorbed  in  absorbing  it,  for  it  was  very  fresh  and  good ; 
or  she  was  not  curious  to  know  what  was  going  on  in 
the  adjoining  room,  although  the  waiters  were,  who  ran 
after  Chevalier  Strong.  So  that  when  she  looked  up 
from  her  glass,  she  beheld  this  strange  man  staring  at 
her  out  of  his  little  red  eyes.  '  Who  was  he?  It  was 
quite  exciting." 

"  And  so  you're  Betsy  Amory,"  said  he,  after  gazing 
at  her.  "  Betsy  Amory,  by  Jove!  " 

'  Who — who  speaks  to  me? "  said  Betsy,  alias 
Blanche. 

But  the  noise  in  the  ball-room  is  really  becoming  so 
loud,  that  we  must  rush  back  thither,  and  see  what  is 
the  cause  of  the  disturbance. 


CHAPTER   XXVII 


WHICH   IS   BOTH   QUARRELSOME   AND   SENTIMENTAL 

'IVIL   war   was   raging,    high 
words  passing,  people  push- 
ing    and    squeezing    to- 
gether in  an  unseemly 
manner,  round  a  win- 
dow in  the  corner  of 
the    ball-room,    close 
by  the  door  through 
which   the   Chevalier 
Strong  shouldered  his 
way.      Through    the 
opened  window,   the 
crowd   in    the   street 
below  was  sending  up 

sarcastic  remarks,  such  as  "  Pitch  into  him!  "  '  Where's 
the  police?"  and  the  like;  and  a  ring  of  individuals, 
among  whom  Madame  Fribsby  was  conspicuous,  was 
gathered  round  Monsieur  Alcide  Mirobolant  on  the  one 
side;  whilst  several  gentlemen  and  ladies  surrounded 
our  friend  Arthur  Pendennis  on  the  other.  Strong 
penetrated  into  this  assembly,  elbowing  by  Madame 
Fribsby,  who  was  charmed  at  the  Chevalier's  appear- 
ance, and  cried,  "  Save  him,  save  him!"  in  frantic  and 
pathetic  accents. 

418 


PENDENNIS  419 

The  cause  of  the  disturbance,  it  appeared,  was  the 
angry  little  chef  of  Sir  Francis  Clavering's  culinary 
establishment.  Shortly  after  Strong  had  quitted  the 
room,  and  whilst  Mr.  Pen,  greatly  irate  at  his  down- 
fall in  the  waltz,  which  had  made  him  look  ridiculous  in 
the  eyes  of  the  nation,  and  by  Miss  Amory's  behaviour 
to  him,  which  had  still  further  insulted  his  dignity,  was 
endeavouring  to  get  some  coolness  of  body  and  temper, 
by  looking  out  of  window  towards  the  sea,  which  was 
sparkling  in  the  distance,  and  murmuring  in  a  won- 
derful calm — whilst  he  was  really  trying  to  compose 
himself,  and  owning  to  himself,  perhaps,  that  he  had 
acted  in  a  very  absurd  and  peevish  manner  during  the 
night — he  felt  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder;  and,  on  look- 
ing round,  beheld,  to  his  utter  surprise  and  horror,  that 
the  hand  in  question  belonged  to  Monsieur  Mirobolant, 
whose  eyes  were  glaring  out  of  his  pale  face  and  ring- 
lets at  Mr.  Pen.  To  be  tapped  on  the  shoulder  by  a 
French  cook  was  a  piece  of  familiarity  which  made  the 
blood  of  the  Pendennises  to  boil  up  in  the  veins  of  their 
descendant,  and  he  was  astounded,  almost  more  than 
enraged,  at  such  an  indignity. 

'  You  speak  French?  "  Mirobolant  said  in  his  own 
language,  to  Pen. 

'  What  is  that  to  you,  pray?  "  said  Pen,  in  English. 

"At  any  rate,  you  understand  it?"  continued  the 
other,  with  a  bow. 

*  Yes,  sir,"  said  Pen,  with  a  stamp  of  his  foot;  "  I 
understand  it  pretty  well." 

'  Vous  me  comprendrez  alors,  Monsieur  Pendennis," 
replied  the  other,  rolling  out  his  r  with  Gascon  force, 
"  quand  je  vous  dis  que  vous  etes  un  lache.  Monsieur 
Pendennis — un  lache,  entendez-vous?  " 


420  PENDENNIS 

'What?"  said  Pen,  starting  round  on  him. 

'  You  understand  the  meaning  of  the  word  and  its 
consequences  among  men  of  honour? "  the  artist  said, 
putting  his  hand  on  his  hip,  and  staring  at  Pen. 

'  The  consequences  are,  that  I  will  fling  you  out  of 
window,  you — impudent  scoundrel,"  bawled  out  Mr. 
Pen;  and  darting  upon  the  Frenchman,  he  would  very 
likely  have  put  his  threat  into  execution,  for  the  window 
was  at  hand,  and  the  artist  by  no  means  a  match  for  the 
young  gentleman — had  not  Captain  Broadfoot  and 
another  heavy  officer  flung  themselves  between  the  com- 
batants,—had  not  the  ladies  begun  to  scream, — had  not 
the  fiddles  stopped, — had  not  the  crowd  of  people  come 
running  in  that  direction, — had  not  Laura,  with  a  face 
of  great  alarm,  looked  over  their  heads  and  asked  for 
Heaven's  sake  what  was  wrong — had  not  the  opportune 
Strong  made  his  appearance  from  the  refreshment- 
room,  and  found  Alcide  grinding  his  teeth  and  jabber- 
ing oaths  in  his  Gascon  French,  and  Pen  looking  un- 
commonly wicked,  although  trying  to  appear  as  calm 
as  possible,  when  the  ladies  and  the  crowd  came  up. 

'  What  has  happened  ?  "  Strong  asked  of  the  chef,  in 
Spanish. 

"  I  am  Chevalier  de  Juillet,"  said  the  other,  slapping 
his  breast,  "  and  he  has  insulted  me." 

'  What  has  he  said  to  you? "  asked  Strong. 

"  II  m'a  appele — Cummer "  hissed  out  the  little 
Frenchman. 

Strong  could  hardly  help  laughing.  "  Come  away 
with  me,  my  poor  Chevalier,"  he  said.  '  We  must  not 
quarrel  before  ladies.  Come  away;  I  will  carry  your 
message  to  Mr.  Pendennis. — The  poor  fellow  is  not 
right  in  his  head,"  he  whispered  to  one  or  two  people 


PENDENNIS  421 

about  him; — and  others,  and  anxious  Laura's  face  visi- 
ble amongst  these,  gathered  round  Pen  and  asked  the 
cause  of  the  disturbance. 

Pen  did  not  know.  '  The  man  was  going  to  give  his 
arm  to  a  young  lady,  on  which  I  said  that  he  was  a  cook, 
and  the  man  called  me  a  coward  and  challenged  me  to 
fight.  I  own  I  was  so  surprised  and  indignant,  that 
if  you  gentlemen  had  not  stopped  me,  I  should  have 
thrown  him  out  of  window,"  Pen  said. 

"  D—  -  him,  serve  him  right,  too, — the  d—  -  impu- 
dent foreign  scoundrel,"  the  gentlemen  said. 

"  I — I'm  very  sorry  if  I  hurt  his  feelings,  though," 
Pen  added:  and  Laura  was  glad  to  hear  him  say  that; 
although  some  of  the  young  bucks  said,  "  No,  hang  the 
fellow, — hang  those  impudent  foreigners — little  thrash- 
ing would  do  them  good." 

"  You  will  go  and  shake  hands  with  him  before  you 
go  to  sleep — won't  you,  Pen? "  said  Laura,  coming  up 
to  him.  "  Foreigners  may  be  more  susceptible  than  we 
are,  and  have  different  manners.  If  you  hurt  a  poor 
man's  feelings,  I  am  sure  you  would  be  the  first  to  ask 
his  pardon.  Wouldn't  you,  dear  Pen? " 

She  looked  all  forgiveness  and  gentleness,  like  an 
angel,  as  she  spoke,  and  Pen  took  both  her  hands,  and 
looked  into  her  kind  face,  and  said  indeed  he  would. 

"  How  fond  that  girl  is  of  me!  "  he  thought,  as  she 
stood  gazing  at  him.  "  Shall  I  speak  to  her  now?  No 
—not  now.  I  must  have  this  absurd  business  with  the 
Frenchman  over." 

Laura  asked — Wouldn't  he  stop  and  dance  with  her? 
She  was  as  anxious  to  keep  him  in  the  room,  as  he  to 
quit  it.  "  Won't  you  stop  and  waltz  with  me,  Pen? 
I'm  not  afraid  to  waltz  with  you.*' 


422  PENDENNIS 

This  was  an  affectionate,  but  an  unlucky  speech. 
Pen  saw  himself  prostrate  on  the  ground,  having  tum- 
bled over  Miss  Roundle  and  the  dragoon,  and  flung 
Blanche  up  against  the  wall — saw  himself  on  the 
ground,  and  all  the  people  laughing  at  him,  Laura  and 
Pynsent  amongst  them. 

'  I  shall  never  dance  again,"  he  replied,  with  a  dark 
and  determined  face.  "  Never.  I'm  surprised  you 
should  ask  me." 

"  Is  it  because  you  can't  get  Blanche  for  a  partner?  " 
asked  Laura,  with  a  wicked,  unlucky  captiousness. 

"  Because  I  don't  wish  to  make  a  fool  of  myself,  for 
other  people  to  laugh  at  me,"  Pen  answered—  "  for  you 
to  laugh  at  me,  Laura.  I  saw  you  and  Pynsent.  By 
Jove!  no  man  shall  laugh  at  me." 

"  Pen,  Pen,  don't  be  so  wicked ! "  cried  out  the  poor 
girl,  hurt  at  the  morbid  perverseness  and  savage  vanity 
of  Pen.  He  was  glaring  round  in  the  direction  of  Mr. 
Pynsent  as  if  he  would  have  liked  to  engage  that  gen- 
tleman as  he  had  done  the  cook.  '  Who  thinks  the 
worse  of  you  for  stumbling  in  a  waltz?  If  Blanche 
does,  we  don't.  Why  are  you  so  sensitive,  and  ready 
to  think  evil?  " 

Here  again,  by  ill  luck,  Mr.  Pynsent  came  up  to 
Laura,  and  said,  "  I  have  it  in  command  from  Lady 
Rockminster  to  ask  whether  I  may  take  you  in  to 
supper? " 

"  I — I  was  going  in  with  my  cousin,"  Laura  said. 

"  O — pray,  no!  "  said  Pen.  '  You  are  in  such  good 
hands,  that  I  can't  do  better  than  leave  you:  and  I'm 
going  home." 

"  Good  night,  Mr.  Pendennis,"  Pynsent  said,  drily 
—to  which  speech  (which,  in  fact,  meant,  "  Go  to  the 


PENDENNIS  423 

deuce  for  an  insolent,  jealous,  impertinent  jackanapes, 
whose  ears  I  should  like  to  box")  Mr.  Pendennis  did 
not  vouchsafe  any  reply,  except  a  bow:  and,  in  spite  of 
Laura's  imploring  looks,  he  left  the  room. 

"  How  beautifully  calm  and  bright  the  night  outside 
is ! "  said  Mr.  Pynsent ;  "  and  what  a  murmur  the  sea  is 
making!  It  would  be  pleasanter  to  be  walking  on  the 
beach,  than  in  this  hot  room." 

'  Very,"  said  Laura. 

'  What  a  strange  congregation  of  people,"  con- 
tinued Pynsent.  "  I  have  had  to  go  up  and  perform 
the  agreeable  to  most  of  them — the  attorney's  daugh- 
ters—the apothecary's  wife — I  scarcely  know  whom. 
There  was  a  man  in  the  refreshment-room  who  in- 
sisted upon  treating  me  to  champagne — a  seafaring 
looking  man— extraordinarily  dressed,  and  seeming 
half  tipsy.  As  a  public  man,  one  is  bound  to  conciliate 
all  these  people,  but  it  is  a  hard  task — especially  when 
one  would  so  very  much  like  to  be  elsewhere  " — and  he 
blushed  rather  as  he  spoke. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Laura—  "I — I  was  not 
listening.  Indeed — I  was  frightened  about  that  quar- 
rel between  my  cousin  and  that — that — French  person." 

"  Your  cousin  has  been  rather  unlucky  to-night," 
Pynsent  said.  '  There  are  three  or  four  persons  whom 
he  has  not  succeeded  in  pleasing — Captain  Broadwood; 
what  is  his  name— the  officer — and  the  young  lady  in 
red  with  whom  he  danced — and  Miss  Blanche — and  the 
poor  chef— and  I  don't  think  he  seemed  to  be  particu- 
larly pleased  with  me." 

"  Didn't  he  leave  me  in  charge  to  you? "  Laura  said, 
looking  up  into  Mr.  Pynsent's  face,  and  dropping  her 
eyes  instantly,  like  a  guilty  little  story-telling  coquette. 


424  PENDENNIS 

"  Indeed,  I  can  forgive  him  a  good  deal  for  that," 
Pynsent  eagerly  cried  out,  and  she  took  his  arm,  and 
he  led  off  his  little  prize  in  the  direction  of  the  supper- 
room. 

She  had  no  great  desire  for  that  repast,  though  it 
was  served  in  Rincer's  well-known  style,  as  the  county 
paper  said,  giving  an  account  of  the  entertainment  af- 
terwards; indeed,  she  was  very  distraite;  and  exceed- 
ingly pained  and  unhappy  about  Pen.  Captious  and 
quarrelsome;  jealous  and  selfish;  fickle  and  violent  and 
unjust  when  his  anger  led  him  astray;  how  could  her 
mother  (as  indeed  Helen  had  by  a  thousand  words  and 
hints)  ask  her  to  give  her  heart  to  such  a  man?  and 
suppose  she  were  to  do  so,  would  it  make  him  happy? 

But  she  got  some  relief  at  length,  when,  at  the  end 
of  half  an  hour — a  long  half -hour  it  had  seemed  to  her 
— a  waiter  brought  her  a  little  note  in  pencil  from  Pen, 
who  said,  "  I  met  Cooky  below  ready  to  fight  me;  and 
I  asked  his  pardon.  I'm  glad  I  did  it.  I  wanted  to 
speak  to  you  to-night,  but  will  keep  what  I  had  to  say 
till  you  come  home.  God  bless  you.  Dance  away  all 
night  with  Pynsent,  and  be  very  happy.  PEN."- 
Laura  was  very  thankful  for  this  letter,  and  to  think 
that  there  was  goodness  and  forgiveness  still  in  her 
mother's  boy. 

Pen  went  down  stairs,  his  heart  reproaching  him  for 
his  absurd  behaviour  to  Laura,  whose  gentle  and  im- 
ploring looks  followed  and  rebuked  him;  and  he  was 
scarcely  out  of  the  ball-room  door  before  he  longed  to 
turn  back  and  ask  her  pardon.  But  he  remembered 
that  he  had  left  her  with  that  confounded  Pynsent. 
He  could  not  apologise  before  him.  He  would  com- 


PENDENNIS  425 

promise  and  forget  his  wrath,  and  make  his  peace  with 
the  Frenchman. 

The  Chevalier  was  pacing  down  below  in  the  hall  of 
the  inn  when  Pen  descended  from  the  ball-room;  and 
he  came  up  to  Pen,  with  all  sorts  of  fun  and  mischief 
lighting  up  his  jolly  face. 

"  I  have  got  him  in  the  coffee-room,"  he  said,  "  with 
a  brace  of  pistols  and  a  candle.  Or  would  you  like 
swords  on  the  beach?  Mirobolant  is  a  dead  hand  with 
the  foils,  and  killed  four  gardes-du-corps  with  his  own 
point  in  the  barricades  of  July." 

"  Confound  it,"  said  Pen,  in  a  fury,  "  I  can't  fight 
a  cook!  " 

"  He  is  a  Chevalier  of  July,"  replied  the  other. 
"  They  present  arms  to  him  in  his  own  country." 

"  And  do  you  ask  me,  Captain  Strong,  to  go  out 
with  a  servant?"  Pen  asked  fiercely;  "I'll  call  a  po- 
liceman for  him;  but— but— " 

'You'll  invite  me  to  hair  triggers?"  cried  Strong, 
with  a  laugh.  *  Thank  you  for  nothing;  I  was  but  jok- 
ing. I  came  to  settle  quarrels,  not  to  fight  them.  I 
have  been  soothing  down  Mirobolant;  I  have  told  him 
that  you  did  not  apply  the  word  'Cook'  to  him  in  an 
offensive  sense:  that  it  was  contrary  to  all  the  customs 
of  the  country  that  a  hired  officer  of  a  household,  as 
I  called  it,  should  give  his  arm  to  the  daughter  of  the 
house."  And  then  he  told  Pen  the  grand  secret  which 
he  had  had  from  Madame  Fribsby,  of  the  violent  pas- 
sion under  which  the  poor  artist  was  labouring. 

When  Arthur  heard  this  tale,  he  broke  out  into  a 
hearty  laugh,  in  which  Strong  joined,  and  his  rage 
against  the  poor  cook  vanished  at  once.  He  had  been 
absurdly  jealous  himself  all  the  evening,  and  had 


420  PENDENNIS 

longed  for  a  pretext  to  insult  Pynsent.  He  remem- 
bered how  jealous  he  had  been  of  Oaks  in  his  first  af- 
fair; he  was  ready  to  pardon  anything  to  a  man  under 
a  passion  like  that:  and  he  went  into  the  coffee-room 
where  Mirobolant  was  waiting,  with  an  outstretched 
hand,  and  made  him  a  speech  in  French,  in  which  he 
declared  that  he  was  "Sincerement  fache  d'avoir  use 
une  expression  qui  avoit  pu  blesser  Monsieur  Mirobo- 
lant, et  qu'il  donnoit  sa  parole  comme  un  gentilhomme 
qu'il  ne  1'avoit  jamais,  jamais— intende,"  said  Pen, 
who  made  a  shot  at  a  French  word  for  "  intended,"  and 
was  secretly  much  pleased  with  his  own  fluency  and  cor- 
rectness in  speaking  that  language. 

"  Bravo,  bravo! "  cried  Strong,  as  much  amused  with 
Pen's  speech  as  pleased  by  his  kind  manner.  "  And  the 
Chevalier  Mirobolant  of  course  withdraws,  and  sin- 
cerely regrets  the  expression  of  which  he  made  use." 

"  Monsieur  Pendennis  has  disproved  my  words  him- 
self," said  Alcide  with  great  politeness;  "he  has  shown 
that  he  is  a  galant  homme." 

And  so  they  shook  hands  and  parted,  Arthur  in  the 
first  place  dispatching  his  note  to  Laura  before  he  and 
Strong  committed  themselves  to  the  Butcher  Boy. 

As  they  drove  along,  Strong  complimented  Pen 
upon  his  behaviour,  as  well  as  upon  his  skill  in  French. 
'  You're  a  good  fellow,  Pendennis,  and  you  speak 
French  like  Chateaubriand,  by  Jove." 

"  I've  been  accustomed  to  it  from  my  youth  up- 
wards," said  Pen;  and  Strong  had  the  grace  not  to 
laugh  for  five  minutes,  when  he  exploded  into  fits  of 
hilarity  which  Pendennis  has  never,  perhaps,  under- 
stood up  to  this  day. 

It  was  daybreak  when  they  got  to  the  Brawl,  where 


PENDENNIS  427 

they  separated.  By  that  time  the  ball  at  Baymouth 
was  over  too.  Madame  Fribsby  and  Mirobolant  were 
on  their  way  home  in  the  Clavering  fly;  Laura  was  in 
bed  with  an  easy  heart  and  asleep  at  Lady  Rockmin- 
ster's;  and  the  Claverings  at  rest  at  the  inn  at  Bay- 
mouth,  where  they  had  quarters  for  the  night.  A  short 
time  after  the  disturbance  between  Pen  and  the  chef, 
Blanche  had  come  out  of  the  refreshment-room,  look- 
ing as  pale  as  a  lemon-ice.  She  told  her  maid,  having 
no  other  confidante  at  hand,  that  she  had  met  with  the 
most  romantic  adventure — the  most  singular  man- 
one  who  had  known  the  author  of  her  being — her  per- 
secuted— her  unhappy — her  heroic — her  murdered  fa- 
ther; and  she  began  a  sonnet  to  his  manes  before  she 
went  to  sleep. 

So  Pen  returned  to  Fairoaks,  in  company  with  his 
friend  the  Chevalier,  without  having  uttered  a  word 
of  the  message  which  he  had  been  so  anxious  to  deliver 
to  Laura  at  Baymouth.  He  could  wait,  however,  until 
her  return  home,  which  was  to  take  place  on  the  suc- 
ceeding day.  He  was  not  seriously  jealous  of  the 
progress  made  by  Mr.  Pynsent  in  her  favour;  and  he 
felt  pretty  certain  that  in  this,  as  in  any  other  family 
arrangement,  he  had  but  to  ask  and  have,  and  Laura, 
like  his  mother,  could  refuse  him  nothing. 

When  Helen's  anxious  looks  inquired  of  him  what 
had  happened  at  Baymouth,  and  whether  her  darling 
project  was  fulfilled,  Pen,  in  a  gay  tone,  told  of  the 
calamity  which  had  befallen;  laughingly  said,  that  no 
man  could  think  about  declarations  under  such  a  mis- 
hap, and  made  light  of  the  matter.  "  There  will  be 
plenty  of  time  for  sentiment,  dear  mother,  when  Laura 


428  PENDENNIS 

comes  back,"  he  said,  and  he  looked  in  the  glass  with  a 
killing  air,  and  his  mother  put  his  hair  off  his  fore- 
head and  kissed  him,  and  of  course  thought,  for  her 
part,  that  no  woman  could  resist  him;  and  was  exceed- 
ingly happy  that  day. 

When  he  was  not  with  her,  Mr.  Pen  occupied  him- 
self in  packing  books  and  portmanteaus,  burning  and 
arranging  papers,  cleaning  his  gun  and  putting  it  into 
its  case:  in  fact,  in  making  dispositions  for  departure. 
For  though  he  was  ready  to  marry,  this  gentleman  was 
eager  to  go  to  London  too,  rightly  considering  that  at 
three-and-twenty  it  was  quite  time  for  him  to  begin 
upon  the  serious  business  of  life,  and  to  set  about  mak- 
ing a  fortune  as  quickly  as  possible. 

The  means  to  this  end  he  had  already  shaped  out  for 
himself.  "  I  shall  take  chambers,"  he  said,  "  and  enter 
myself  at  an  Inn  of  Court.  With  a  couple  of  hundred 
pounds  I  shall  be  able  to  carry  through  the  first  year 
very  well;  after  that  I  have  little  doubt  my  pen  will 
support  me,  as  it  is  doing  with  several  Oxbridge  men 
now  in  town.  I  have  a  tragedy,  a  comedy,  and  a 
novel,  all  nearly  finished,  and  for  which  I  can't  fail  to 
get  a  price.  And  so  I  shall  be  able  to  live  pretty  well, 
without  drawing  upon  my  poor  mother,  until  I  have 
made  my  way  at  the  bar.  Then,  some  day  I  will  come 
back  and  make  her  dear  soul  happy  by  marrying 
Laura.  She  is  as  good  and  as  sweet-tempered  a  girl 
as  ever  lived,  besides  being  really  very  good-looking, 
and  the  engagement  will  serve  to  steady  me, — won't  it, 
Ponto?"  Thus,  smoking  his  pipe,  and  talking  to  his 
dog  as  he  sauntered  through  the  gardens  and  orchards 
of  the  little  domain  of  Fairoaks,  this  young  day- 
dreamer  built  castles  in  the  air  for  himself:  "  Yes, 


PENDENNIS  429 

she'll  steady  me,  won't  she?  And  you'll  miss  me,  when 
I've  gone,  won't  you,  old  boy? "  he  asked  of  Ponto, 
who  quivered  his  tail  and  thrust  his  brown  nose  into  his 
master's  fist.  Ponto  licked  his  hand  and  shoe,  as  they 
all  did  in  that  house,  and  Mr.  Pen  received  their  hom- 
age as  other  folks  do  the  flattery  which  they  get. 

Laura  came  home  rather  late  in  the  evening  of  the 
second  day ;  and  Mr.  Pynsent,  as  ill  luck  would  have  it, 
drove  her  from  Clavering.  The  poor  girl  could  not 
refuse  his  offer,  but  his  appearance  brought  a  dark 
cloud  upon  the  brow  of  Arthur  Pendennis.  Laura  saw 
this,  and  was  pained  by  it:  the  eager  widow,  however, 
was  aware  of  nothing,  and  being  anxious,  doubtless, 
that  the  delicate  question  should  be  asked  at  once,  was 
for  going  to  bed  very  soon  after  Laura's  arrival,  and 
rose  for  that  purpose  to  leave  the  sofa  where  she  now 
generally  lay,  and  where  Laura  would  come  and  sit 
and  work  or  read  by  her.  But  when  Helen  rose,  Laura 
said,  with  a  blush  and  rather  an  alarmed  voice,  that  she 
was  also  very  tired  and  wanted  to  go  to  bedt  so  that 
the  widow  was  disappointed  in  her  scheme  for  that 
night  at  least,  and  Mr.  Pen  was  left  another  day  in  sus- 
pense regarding  his  fate. 

His  dignity  was  offended  at  being  thus  obliged  to 
remain  in  the  ante-chamber  when  he  wanted  an  audi- 
ence. Such  a  sultan  as  he,  could  not  afford  to  be  kept 
waiting.  However,  he  went  to  bed  and  slept  upon  his 
disappointment  pretty  comfortably,  and  did  not  wake 
until  the  early  morning,  when  he  looked  up  and  saw  his 
mother  standing  in  his  room. 

"  Dear  Pen,  rouse  up,"  said  this  lady.  "  Do  not  be 
lazy.  It  is  the  most  beautiful  morning  in  the  world.  I 


430  PENDENNIS 

have  not  been  able  to  sleep  since  day-break ;  and  Laura 
has  been  out  for  an  hour.  She  is  in  the  garden. 
Everybody  ought  to  be  in  the  garden  and  out  on  such 
a  morning  as  this." 

Pen  laughed.  He  saw  what  thoughts  were  upper- 
most in  the  simple  woman's  heart.  His  good-natured 
laughter  cheered  the  widow.  "  Oh  you  profound  dis- 
sembler," he  said,  kissing  his  mother.  "  Oh  you  artful 
creature !  Can  nobody  escape  from  your  wicked  tricks  ? 
and  will  you  make  your  only  son  your  victim?  "  Helen 
too  laughed,  she  blushed,  she  fluttered,  and  was  agi- 
tated. She  was  as  happy  as  she  could  be— a  good  ten- 
der, matchmaking  woman,  the  dearest  project  of  whose 
heart  was  about  to  be  accomplished. 

So,  after  exchanging  some  knowing  looks  and  hasty 
words,  Helen  left  Arthur;  and  this  young  hero,  rising 
from  his  bed,  proceeded  to  decorate  his  beautiful  per- 
son, and  shave  his  ambrosial  chin;  and  in  half-an-hour 
he  issued  out  from  his  apartment  into  the  garden  in 
quest  of  Laura.  His  reflections  as  he  made  his  toilette 
were  rather  dismal.  "  I  am  going  to  tie  myself  for 
life,"  he  thought,  "  to  please  my  mother.  Laura  is  the 
best  of  women,  and — and  she  has  given  me  her  money. 
I  wish  to  Heaven  I  had  not  received  it;  I  wish  I  had 
not  this  duty  to  perform  just  yet.  But  as  both  the 
women  have  set  their  hearts  on  the  match,  why  I  sup- 
pose I  must  satisfy  them— and  now  for  it.  A  man  may 
do  worse  than  make  happy  two  of  the  best  creatures 
in  the  world."  So  Pen,  now  he  was  actually  come  to 
the  point,  felt  very  grave,  and  by  no  means  elated,  and, 
indeed,  thought  it  was  a  great  sacrifice  he  was  going  to 
perform. 

It  was  Miss  Laura's  custom,  upon  her  garden  ex- 


PENDENNIS  431 

cursions,  to  wear  a  sort  of  uniform,  which,  though 
homely,  was  thought  by  many  people  to  be  not  unbe- 
coming. She  had  a  large  straw  hat,  with  a  streamer  of 
broad  ribbon,  which  was  useless  probably,  but  the  hat 
sufficiently  protected  the  owner's  pretty  face  from  the 
sun.  Over  her  accustomed  gown  she  wore  a  blouse  or 
pinafore,  which,  being  fastened  round  her  little  waist 
by  a  smart  belt,  looked  extremely  well,  and  her  hands 
were  guaranteed  from  the  thorns  of  her  favourite  rose- 
bushes by  a  pair  of  gauntlets,  which  gave  this  young 
lady  a  military  and  resolute  air. 

Somehow  she  had  the  very  same  smile  with  which  she 
had  laughed  at  him  on  the  night  previous,  and  the  rec- 
ollection of  his  disaster  again  offended  Pen.  But 
Laura,  though  she  saw  him  coming  down  the  walk 
looking  so  gloomy  and  full  of  care,  accorded  to  him  a 
smile  of  the  most  perfect  and  provoking  good-humour, 
and  went  to  meet  him,  holding  one  of  the  gauntlets  to 
him,  so  that  he  might  shake  it  if  he  liked — and  Mr.  Pen 
condescended  to  do  so.  His  face,  however,  did  not  lose 
its  tragic  expression  in  consequence  of  this  favour,  and 
he  continued  to  regard  her  with  a  dismal  and  solemn 
air. 

"  Excuse  my  glove,"  said  Laura,  with  a  laugh,  press- 
ing Pen's  hand  kindly  with  it.  '  We  are  not  angry 
again,  are  we,  Pen? " 

"  Why  do  you  laugh  at  me?  "  said  Pen.  "  You  did 
the  other  night,  and  made  a  fool  of  me  to  the  people  at 
Bay  mouth." 

"  My  dear  Arthur,  I  meant  you  no  wrong,"  the  girl 
answered.  '  You  and  Miss  Roundle  looked  so  droll  as 
you — as  you  met  with  your  little  accident,  that  I  could 
not  make  a  tragedy  of  it.  Dear  Pen,  it  wasn't  a  serious 


432 


PENDENNIS 


fall.    And,  besides,  it  was  Miss  Roundle  who  was  the 
most  unfortunate." 

"  Confound  Miss  Roundle!"  bellowed  out  Pen. 


"  I'm  sure  she  looked  so,*'  said  Laura,  archly.  '  You 
were  up  in  an  instant;  but  that  poor  lady  sitting  on  the 
ground  in  her  red  crape  dress,  and  looking  about  her 
with  that  piteous  face— can  I  ever  forget  her? "  —and 
Laura  began  to  make  a  face  in  imitation  of  Miss 
Roundle's  under  the  disaster,  but  she  checked  herself  re- 


PENDENNIS  433 

pentantly,  saying,  "  Well,  we  must  not  laugh  at  her, 
but  I  am  sure  we  ought  to  laugh  at  you,  Pen,  if  you 
were  angry  about  such  a  trifle." 

"  You  should  not  laugh  at  me,  Laura,"  said  Pen, 
with  some  bitterness;  "not  you,  of  all  people." 

"  And  why  not?  Are  you  such  a  great  man?  "  asked 
Laura. 

"Ah,  no,  Laura,  I'm  such  a  poor  one,"  Pen  answered. 
"  Haven't  you  baited  me  enough  already? " 

"  My  dear  Pen,  and  how? "  cried  Laura.  "  Indeed, 
indeed,  I  didn't  think  to  vex  you  by  such  a  trifle.  I 
thought  such  a  clever  man  as  you  could  bear  a  harmless 
little  joke  from  his  sister,"  she  said,  holding  her  hand 
out  again.  "  Dear  Arthur,  if  I  have  hurt  you,  I  beg 
your  pardon." 

"It  is  your  kindness  that  humiliates  me  more  even 
than  your  laughter,  Laura,"  Pen  said.  *  You  are  al- 
ways my  superior." 

'What!  superior  to  the  great  Arthur  Pendennis? 
How  can  it  be  possible?  "  said  Miss  Laura,  who  may 
have  had  a  little  wickedness  as  well  as  a  great  deal  of 
kindness  in  her  composition.  *  You  can't  mean  that 
any  woman  is  your  equal? " 

'  Those  who  confer  benefits  should  not  sneer,"  said 
Pen.  "  I  don't  like  my  benefactor  to  laugh  at  me, 
Laura;  it  makes  the  obligation  very  hard  to  bear.  You 
scorn  me  because  I  have  taken  your  money,  and  I  am 
worthy  to  be  scorned ;  but  the  blow  is  hard  coming  from 

you." 

"  Money!  Obligation!  For  shame,  Pen;  this  is  un- 
generous," Laura  said,  flushing  red.  "  May  not  our 
mother  claim  everything  that  belongs  to  us?  Don't  I 
owe  her  all  my  happiness  in  this  .world,  Arthur?  What 


434  PENDENNIS 

matters  about  a  few  paltry  guineas,  if  we  can  set  her 
tender  heart  at  rest,  and  ease  her  mind  regarding  you? 
I  would  dig  in  the  fields,  I  would  go  out  and  be  a  servant 
-I  would  die  for  her.  You  know  I  would,"  said  Miss 
Laura,  kindling  up ;  "  and  you  call  this  paltry  money  an 
obligation?  Oh,  Pen,  it's  cruel — it's  unworthy  of  you  to 
take  it  so!  If  my  brother  may  not  share  with  me  my 
superfluity,  who  may? — Mine? — I  tell  you  it  was  not 
mine;  it  was  all  mamma's  to  do  with  as  she  chose,  and 
so  is  everything  I  have,"  said  Laura;  "  my  life  is  hers." 
And  the  enthusiastic  girl  looked  towards  the  windows 
of  the  widow's  room,  and  blessed  in  her  heart  the  kind 
creature  within. 

Helen  was  looking,  unseen,  out  of  that  window 
towards  which  Laura's  eyes  and  heart  were  turned  as 
she  spoke,  and  was  watching  her  two  children  with  the 
deepest  interest  and  emotion,  longing  and  hoping  that 
the  prayer  of  her  life  might  be  fulfilled;  and  if  Laura 
had  spoken  as  Helen  hoped,  who  knows  what  tempta- 
tions Arthur  Pendennis  might  have  been  spared,  or 
what  different  trials  he  would  have  had  to  undergo? 
He  might  have  remained  at  Fairoaks  all  his  days,  and 
died  a  country  gentleman.  But  would  he  have  escaped 
then?  Temptation  is  an  obsequious  servant  that  has 
no  objection  to  the  country,  and  we  know  that  it  takes 
up  its  lodging  in  hermitages  as  well  as  in  cities;  and 
that  in  the  most  remote  and  inaccessible  desert  it  keeps 
company  with  the  fugitive  solitary. 

"  Is  your  life  my  mother's,"  said  Pen,  beginning  to 
tremble,  and  speak  in  a  very  agitated  manner.  '  You 
know,  Laura,  what  the  great  object  of  hers  is? "  And 
he  took  her  hand  once  more. 

'  What,  Arthur? "  she  said,  dropping  it,  and  looking 


PENDENNIS  435 

at  him,  at  the  window  again,  and  then  dropping  her 
eyes  to  the  ground,  so  that  they  avoided  Pen's  gaze. 
She,  too,  trembled,  for  she  felt  that  the  crisis  for  which 
she  had  been  secretly  preparing  was  come. 

"  Our  mother  has  one  wish  above  all  others  in  the 
world,  Laura,"  Pen  said,  "  and  I  think  you  know  it. 
I  own  to  you  that  she  has  spoken  to  me  of  it;  and  if 
you  will  fulfil  it,  dear  sister,  I  am  ready.  I  am  but 
very  young  as  yet;  but  I  have  had  so  many  pains  and 
disappointments,  that  I  am  old  and  weary.  I  think  I 
have  hardly  got  a  heart  to  offer.  Before  I  have  almost 
begun  the  race  in  life,  I  am  a  tired  man.  My  career 
has  been  a  failure ;  I  have  been  protected  by  those  whom 
I  by  right  should  have  protected.  I  own  that  your 
nobleness  and  generosity,  dear  Laura,  shame  me,  whilst 
they  render  me  grateful.  When  I  heard  from  our 
mother  what  you  had  done  for  me:  that  it  was  you  who 
armed  me  and  bade  me  go  out  for  one  struggle  more; 
I  longed  to  go  and  throw  myself  at  your  feet,  and  say, 
*  Laura,  will  you  come  and  share  the  contest  with  me? 
Your  sympathy  will  cheer  me  while  it  lasts.  I  shall 
have  one  of  the  tenderest  and  most  generous  creatures 
under  heaven  to  aid  and  bear  me  company.'  Will  you 
take  me,  dear  Laura,  and  make  our  mother  happy? " 

"  Do  you  think  mamma  would  be  happy  if  you  were 
otherwise,  Arthur?  "  Laura  said  in  a  low  sad  voice. 

"  And  why  should  I  not  be,"  asked  Pen  eagerly, 
"with  so  dear  a  creature  as  you  by  my  side?  I  have 
not  my  first  love  to  give  you.  I  am  a  broken  man.  But 
indeed  I  would  love  you  fondly  and  truly.  I  have  lost 
many  an  illusion  and  ambition,  but  I  am  not  without 
hope  still.  Talents  I  know  I  have,  wretchedly  as  I  have 
misapplied  them:  they  may  serve  me  yet:  they  would, 


436  PENDENNIS 

had  I  a  motive  for  action.  Let  me  go  away  and  think 
that  I  am  pledged  to  return  to  you.  Let  me  go  and 
work,  and  hope  that  you  will  share  my  success  if  I  gain 
it.  You  have  given  me  so  much,  dear  Laura,  will  you 
take  from  me  nothing? " 

'  What  have  you  got  to  give,  Arthur? "  Laura  said, 
with  a  grave  sadness  of  tone,  which  made  Pen  start, 
and  see  that  his  words  had  committed  him.  Indeed,  his 
declaration  had  not  been  such  as  he  would  have  made  it 
two  days  earlier,  when,  full  of  hope  and  gratitude,  he 
had  run  over  to  Laura,  his  liberatress,  to  thank  her  for 
his  recovered  freedom.  Had  he  been  permitted  to 
speak  then,  he  had  spoken,  and  she,  perhaps,  had  lis- 
tened differently.  It  would  have  been  a  grateful  heart 
asking  for  hers ;  not  a  weary  one  offered  to  her,  to  take 
or  to  leave.  Laura  was  offended  with  the  terms  in 
which  Pen  offered  himself  to  her.  He  had,  in  fact,  said 
that  he  had  no  love,  and  yet  would  take  no  denial.  "  I 
give  myself  to  you  to  please  my  mother,"  he  had  said: 
"  take  me,  as  she  wishes  that  I  should  make  this  sacri- 
fice." The  girl's  spirit  would  brook  a  husband  under 
no  such  conditions:  she  was  not  minded  to  run  forward 
because  Pen  chose  to  hold  out  the  handkerchief,  and  her 
tone,  in  reply  to  Arthur,  showed  her  determination  to 
be  independent. 

"  No,  Arthur,"  she  said,  "  our  marriage  would  not 
make  mamma  happy,  as  she  fancies;  for  it  would  not 
content  you  very  long.  I,  too,  have  known  what  her 
wishes  were;  for  she  is  too  open  to  conceal  anything 
she  has  at  heart:  and  once,  perhaps,  I  thought— but 
that  is  over  now — that  I  could  have  made  you— that 
it  might  have  been  as  she  wished." 

"  You  have  seen  somebody  else,"  said  Pen,  angry 


PENDENNIS  437 

at  her  tone,  and  recalling  the  incidents  of  the  past 
days. 

"  That  allusion  might  have  been  spared,"  Laura  re- 
plied, flinging  up  her  head.  "  A  heart  which  has  worn 
out  love  at  three-and-twenty,  as  yours  has,  you  say, 
should  have  survived  jealousy  too.  I  do  not  condescend 
to  say  whether  I  have  seen  or  encouraged  any  other  per- 
son. I  shall  neither  admit  the  charge,  nor  deny  it:  and 
beg  you  also  to  allude  to  it  no  more." 

"  I  ask  your  pardon,  Laura,  if  I  have  offended  you: 
but  if  I  am  jealous,  does  it  not  prove  that  I  have  a 
heart?  " 

"  Not  for  me,  Arthur.  Perhaps  you  think  you  love 
me  now:  but  it  is  only  for  an  instant,  and  because  you 
are  foiled.  Were  there  no  obstacle,  you  would  feel  no 
ardour  to  overcome  it.  No,  Arthur,  you  don't  love  me. 
You  would  weary  of  me  in  three  months,  as — as  you  do 
of  most  things;  and  mamma,  seeing  you  tired  of  me, 
would  be  more  unhappy  than  at  my  refusal  to  be  yours. 
Let  us  be  brother  and  sister,  Arthur,  as  heretofore — but 
no  more.  You  will  get  over  this  little  disappointment." 

"  I  will  try,"  said  Arthur,  in  a  great  indignation. 

"  Have  you  not  tried  before?  "  Laura  said,  with  some 
anger,  for  she  had  been  angry  with  Arthur  for  a  very 
long  time,  and  was  now  determined,  I  suppose,  to  speak 
her  mind.  "  And  the  next  time,  Arthur,  when  you  offer 
yourself  to  a  woman,  do  not  say  as  you  have  done  to  me, 
'  I  have  no  heart — I  do  not  love  you;  but  I  am  ready  to 
marry  you  because  my  mother  wishes  for  the  match.' 
We  require  more  than  this  in  return  for  our  love — that 
is,  I  think  so.  I  have  had  no  experience  hitherto,  and 
have  not  had  the — the  practice  which  you  supposed  me 
to  have,  when  you  spoke  but  now  of  my  having  seen 


438  PENDENNIS 

somebody  else.  Did  you  tell  your  first  love  that 
you  had  no  heart,  Arthur?  or  your  second  that  you 
did  not  love  her,  but  that  she  might  have  you  if  she 
liked?" 

'  What— what  do  you  mean? "  asked  Arthur,  blush- 
ing, and  still  in  great  wrath. 

'  I  mean  Blanche  Amory,  Arthur  Pendennis," 
Laura  said,  proudly.  "  It  is  but  two  months  since  you 
were  sighing  at  her  feet— making  poems  to  her— plac- 
ing them  in  hollow  trees  by  the  riverside.  I  knew  all. 
I  watched  you— that  is,  she  showed  them  to  me. 
Neither  one  nor  the  other  was  in  earnest  perhaps;  but 
it  is  too  soon  now,  Arthur,  to  begin  a  new  attachment. 
Go  through  the  time  of  your— your  widowhood  at  least, 
and  do  not  think  of  marrying  until  you  are  out  of 
mourning."-  —  ( Here  the  girl's  eyes  filled  with  tears, 
and  she  passed  her  hand  across  them.)  "  I  am  angry 
and  hurt,  and  I  have  no  right  to  be  so,  and  I  ask  your 
pardon  in  my  turn  now,  dear  Arthur.  You  had  a  right 
to  love  Blanche.  She  was  a  thousand  times  prettier  and 
more  accomplished  than — than  any  girl  near  us  here; 
and  you  could  not  know  that  she  had  no  heart;  and  so 
you  were  right  to  leave  her  too.  I  ought  not  to  rebuke 
you  about  Blanche  Amory,  and  because  she  deceived 
you.  Pardon  me,  Pen," — and  she  held  the  kind  hand 
out  to  Pen  once  more. 

'  We  were  both  jealous,"  said  Pen.  "  Dear  Laura, 
let  us  both  forgive  "  —and  he  seized  her  hand  and  would 
have  drawn  her  towards  him.  He  thought  that  she 
was  relenting,  and  already  assumed  the  airs  of  a  victor. 

But  she  shrank  back,  and  her  tears  passed  away ;  and 
she  fixed  on  him  a  look  so  melancholy  and  severe,  that 
the  young  man  in  his  turn  shrunk  before  it.  "  Do  not 


PENDENNIS  439 

mistake  me,  Arthur,"  she  said,  "  it  cannot  be.  You  do 
not  know  what  you  ask,  and  do  not  be  too  angry  with 
me  for  saying  that  I  think  you  do  not  deserve  it.  What 
do  you  offer  in  exchange  to  a  woman  for  her  love,  hon- 
our, and  obedience?  If  ever  I  say  these  words,  dear 
Pen,  I  hope  to  say  them  in  earnest,  and  by  the  blessing 
of  God  to  keep  my  vow.  But  you — what  tie  binds  you? 
You  do  not  care  about  many  things  which  we  poor  wo- 
men hold  sacred.  I  do  not  like  to  think  or  ask  how  far 
your  incredulity  leads  you.  You  offer  to  marry  to 
please  our  mother,  and  own  that  you  have  no  heart  to 
give  away.  Oh,  Arthur,  what  is  it  you  offer  me  ?  What 
a  rash  compact  would  you  enter  into  so  lightly?  A 
month  ago,  and  you  would  have  given  yourself  to  an- 
other. I  pray  you  do  not  trifle  with  your  own  or  others' 
hearts  so  recklessly.  Go  and  work;  go  and  mend,  dear 
Arthur,  for  I  see  your  faults,  and  dare  speak  of  them 
now:  go  and  get  fame,  as  you  say  that  you  can,  and  I 
will  pray  for  my  brother,  and  watch  our  dearest  mother 
at  home." 

"  Is  that  your  final  decision,  Laura? "  Arthur  cried. 
'  Yes,"  said  Laura,  bowing  her  head ;  and  once  more 
giving  him  her  hand,  she  went  away.  He  saw  her  pass 
under  the  creepers  of  the  little  porch,  and  disappear 
into  the  house.  The  curtains  of  his  mother's  window 
fell  at  the  same  minute,  but  he  did  not  mark  that,  or 
suspect  that  Helen  had  been  witnessing  the  scene. 

Was  he  pleased,  or  was  he  angry  at  its  termination? 
He  had  asked  her,  and  a  secret  triumph  filled  his  heart 
to  think  that  he  was  still  free.  She  had  refused  him, 
but  did  she  not  love  him?  That  avowal  of  jealousy 
made  him  still  think  that  her  heart  was  his  own,  what- 
ever her  lips  might  utter. 


440  PENDENNIS 

And  now  we  ought,  perhaps,  to  describe  another 
scene  which  took  place  at  Fairoaks,  between  the  widow 
and  Laura,  when  the  latter  had  to  tell  Helen  that  she 
had  refused  Arthur  Pendennis.  Perhaps  it  was  the 
hardest  task  of  all  which  Laura  had  to  go  through  in 
this  matter:  and  the  one  which  gave  her  the  most  pain. 
But  as  we  do  not  like  to  see  a  good  woman  unjust,  we 
shall  not  say  a  word  more  of  the  quarrel  which  now  be- 
fel  between  Helen  and  her  adopted  daughter,  or  of  the 
bitter  tears  which  the  poor  girl  was  made  to  shed.  It 
was  the  only  difference  which  she  and  the  widow  had 
ever  had  as  yet,  and  the  more  cruel  from  this  cause. 
Pen  left  home  whilst  it  was  as  yet  pending— and  Helen, 
who  could  pardon  almost  everything,  could  not  pardon 
an  act  of  justice  in  Laura. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 


BABYLON 

UR  reader  must  now  please 
to  quit  the  woods  and  sea- 
shore of  the  west,  and 
the  gossip  of  Clavering, 
and  the  humdrum  life 
of  poor  little  Fairoaks, 
and  transport  himself 
with  Arthur  Pendennis, 
on  the  "Alacrity"  coach, 
to  London,  whither  he 
goes  once  for  all  to  face 
the  world  and  to  make 
his  fortune.  As  the 
coach  whirls  through  the 
night  away  from  the 
friendly  gates  of  home,  many  a  plan  does  the  young  man 
cast  in  his  mind  of  future  life  and  conduct,  prudence, 
and  peradventure  success  and  fame.  He  knows  he  is  a 
better  man  than  many  who  have  hitherto  been  ahead  of 
him  in  the  race :  his  first  failure  has  caused  him  remorse, 
and  brought  with  it  reflection ;  it  has  not  taken  away  his 
courage,  or,  let  us  add,  his  good  opinion  of  himself.  A 
hundred  eager  fancies  and  busy  hopes  keep  him  awake. 
How  much  older  his  mishaps  and  a  year's  thought  and 
self-communion  have  made  him,  than  when,  twelve 
months  since,  he  passed  on  this  road  on  his  way  to  and 

441 


442  PEXDENXIS 

from  Oxbridge!  His  thoughts  turn  in  the  night  with 
inexpressible  fondness  and  tenderness  towards  the  fond 
mother,  who  blessed  him  when  parting,  and  who,  in  spite 
of  all  his  past  faults  and  follies,  trusts  him  and  loves 
him  still.  Blessings  be  on  her!  lie  prays,  as  he  looks  up 
to  the  stars  overhead.  O  Heaven,  give  him  strength  to 
work,  to  endure,  to  be  honest,  to  avoid  temptation,  to  be 
worthy  of  the  loving  soul  who  loves  him  so  entirely! 
Very  likely  she  is  awake  too,  at  that  moment,  and  send- 
ing up  to  the  same  Father  purer  prayers  than  his  for 
the  welfare  of  her  boy.  That  woman's  love  is  a  talis- 
man by  which  he  holds  and  hopes  to  get  his  safety. 
And  Laura's — he  would  have  fain  carried  her  affection 
with  him  too,  but  she  has  denied  it,  as  he  is  not  worthy 
of  it.  He  owns  as  much  with  shame  and  remorse;  con- 
fesses how  much  better  and  loftier  her  nature  is  than 
his  own— confesses  it,  and  yet  is  glad  to  be  free.  "  I 
am  not  good  enough  for  such  a  creature,"  he  owns  to 
himself.  He  draws  back  before  her  spotless  beauty  and 
innocence,  as  from  something  that  scares  him.  He  feels 
he  is  not  fit  for  such  a  mate  as  that;  as  many  a  wild 
prodigal  who  has  been  pious  and  guiltless  in  early  days, 
keeps  away  from  a  church  which  he  used  to  frequent 
once — shunning  it,  but  not  hostile  to  it — only  feeling 
that  he  has  no  right  in  that  pure  place. 

With  these  thoughts  to  occupy  him,  Pen  did  not  fall 
asleep  until  the  nipping  dawn  of  an  October  morn- 
ing, and  woke  considerably  refreshed  when  the  coach 

stopped  at  the  old  breakfasting  place  at  B ,  where 

he  had  had  a  score  of  merry  meals  on  his  way  to  and 
from  school  and  college  many  times  since  he  was  a  boy. 
As  they  left  that  place,  the  sun  broke  out  brightly,  the 
pace  was  rapid,  the  horn  blew,  the  milestones  flew  by, 


PENDENNIS  443 

Pen  smoked  and  joked  with  guard  and  fellow-passen- 
gers and  people  along  the  familiar  road;  it  grew  more 
busy  and  animated  at  every  instant;  the  last  team  of 
greys  came  out  at  H—  — ,  and  the  coach  drove  into  Lon- 
don. What  young  fellow  has  not  felt  a  thrill  as  he  en- 
tered the  vast  place?  Hundreds  of  other  carriages, 
crowded  with  their  thousands  of  men,  were  hastening 
to  the  great  city.  "  Here  is  my  place,"  thought  Pen; 
"  here  is  my  battle  beginning,  in  which  I  must  fight  and 
conquer,  or  fall.  I  have  been  a  boy  and  a  dawdler  as 
yet.  Oh,  I  long,  I  long  to  show  that  I  can  be  a  man." 
And  from  his  place  on  the  coach-roof  the  eager  young 
fellow  looked  down  upon  the  city,  with  the  sort  of  long- 
ing desire  which  young  soldiers  feel  on  the  eve  of  a 
campaign. 

As  they  came  along  the  road,  Pen  had  formed  ac- 
quaintance with  a  cheery  fellow-passenger  in  a  shabby 
cloak,  who  talked  a  great  deal  about  men  of  letters  with 
whom  he  was  very  familiar,  and  who  was,  in  fact,  the 
reporter  of  a  London  newspaper,  as  whose  representa- 
tive he  had  been  to  attend  a  great  wrestling-match  in 
the  west.  This  gentleman  knew  intimately,  as  it  ap- 
peared, all  the  leading  men  of  letters  of  his  day,  and 
talked  about  Tom  Campbell,  and  Tom  Hood,  and  Syd- 
ney Smith,  and  this  and  the  other,  as  if  he  had  been  their 
most  intimate  friend.  As  they  passed  by  Brompton, 
this  gentleman  pointed  out  to  Pen  Mr.  Hurtle,  the  re- 
viewer, walking  with  his  umbrella.  Pen  craned  over 
the  coach  to  have  a  long  look  at  the  great  Hurtle.  He 
was  a  Boniface  man,  said  Pen.  And  Mr.  Doolan,  of 
the  "Tom  and  Jerry"  newspaper  (for  such  was  the 
gentleman's  name  and  address  upon  the  card  which  he 
handed  to  Pen),  said  "  Faith  he  was,  and  he  knew  him 


444  PENDENNIS 

very  well."  Pen  thought  it  was  quite  an  honour  to 
have  seen  the  great  Mr.  Hurtle,  whose  works  he  ad- 
mired. He  believed  fondly,  as  yet,  in  authors,  review- 
ers, and  editors  of  newspapers.  Even  Wagg,  whose 
books  did  not  appear  to  him  to  be  masterpieces  of  hu- 
man intellect,  he  yet  secretly  revered  as  a  successful 
writer.  He  mentioned  that  he  had  met  Wagg  in  the 
country,  and  Doolan  told  him  how  that  famous  novelist 
received  three  hundther  pounds  a  volume  for  every  one 
of  his  novels.  Pen  began  to  calculate  instantly  whether 
he  might  not  make  five  thousand  a  year. 

The  very  first  acquaintance  of  his  own  whom  Arthur 
met,  as  the  coach  pulled  up  at  the  Gloster  Coffee 
House,  was  his  old  friend  Harry  Foker,  who  came 
prancing  down  Arlington  Street  behind  an  enormous 
cab-horse.  He  had  white  kid  gloves  and  white  reins, 
and  nature  had  by  this  time  decorated  him  with  a  con- 
siderable tuft  on  the  chin.  A  very  small  cab-boy,  vice 
Stoopid  retired,  swung  on  behind  Foker's  vehicle; 
knock-kneed  and  in  the  tightest  leather  breeches. 
Foker  looked  at  the  dusty  coach,  and  the  smoking 
horses  of  the  "  Alacrity  "  by  which  he  had  made  jour- 
neys in  former  times. —  '  What,  Foker!  "  cried  out  Pen- 
dennis—  "  Hullo !  Pen,  my  boy!"  said  the  other,  and 
he  waved  his  whip  by  way  of  amity  and  salute  to  Ar- 
thur, who  was  very  glad  to  see  his  queer  friend's  kind 
old  face.  Mr.  Doolan  had  a  great  respect  for  Pen  who 
had  an  acquaintance  in  such  a  grand  cab;  and  Pen  was 
greatly  excited  and  pleased  to  be  at  liberty  and  in  Lon- 
don. He  asked  Doolan  to  come  and  dine  with  him  at 
the  Covent  Garden  Coffee  House,  where  he  put  up:  he 
called  a  cab  and  rattled  away  thither  in  the  highest 
spirits.  He  was  glad  to  see  the  bustling  waiter  and 


PENDENNIS  445 

polite  bowing  landlord  again;  and  asked  for  the  land- 
lady, and  missed  the  old  Boots,  and  would  have  liked 
to  shake  hands  with  everybody.  He  had  a  hundred 
pounds  in  his  pocket.  He  dressed  himself  in  his  very 
best;  dined  in  the  coffee-room  with  a  modest  pint  of 
sherry  (for  he  was  determined  to  be  very  economical), 
and  went  to  the  theatre  adjoining. 

The  lights  and  the  music,  the  crowd  and  the  gaiety, 
charmed  and  exhilarated  Pen,  as  those  sights  will  do 
young  fellows  from  college  and  the  country,  to  whom 
they  are  tolerably  new.  He  laughed  at  the  jokes;  he 
applauded  the  songs,  to  the  delight  of  some  of  the 
dreary  old  habitues  of  the  boxes,  wrho  had  ceased  long 
ago  to  find  the  least  excitement  in  their  place  of  nightly 
resort,  and  were  pleased  to  see  any  one  so  fresh,  and  so 
much  amused.  At  the  end  of  the  first  piece,  he  went 
and  strutted  about  the  lobbies  of  the  theatre,  as  if  he 
was  in  a  resort  of  the  highest  fashion.  What  tired  fre- 
quenter of  the  London  pave  is  there  that  cannot  remem- 
ber having  had  similar  early  delusions,  and  would  not 
call  them  back  again?  Here  was  young  Foker  again, 
like  an  ardent  votary  of  pleasure  as  he  was.  He  was 
walking  with  Granby  Tiptoff,  of  the  Household  Bri- 
gade, Lord  Tiptoff's  brother,  and  Lord  Colchicum, 
Captain  Tiptoff's  uncle,  a  venerable  peer,  who  had  been 
a  man  of  pleasure  since  the  first  French  Revolution. 
Foker  rushed  upon  Pen  with  eagerness,  and  insisted 
that  the  latter  should  come  into  his  private  box,  where 
a  lady  with  the  longest  ringlets,  and  the  fairest  shoul- 
ders, was  seated.  This  was  Miss  Blenkinsop,  the  emi- 
nent actress  of  high  comedy ;  and  in  the  back  of  the  box 
snoozing  in  a  wig,  sate  old  Blenkinsop,  her  papa.  He 
was  described  in  the  theatrical  prints  as  the  "  veteran 


446  PENDENNIS 

Blenkinsop  "— "  the  useful  Blenkinsop  "— "  that  old 
favourite  of  the  public,  Blenkinsop:"  those  parts  in 
the  drama,  which  are  called  the  heavy  fathers,  were 
usually  assigned  to  this  veteran,  who,  indeed,  acted  the 
heavy  father  in  public,  as  in  private  life. 

At  this  time,  it  being  about  eleven  o'clock,  Mrs.  Pen- 
dennis  was  gone  to  bed  at  Fairoaks,  and  wondering 
whether  her  dearest  Arthur  was  at  rest  after  his  jour- 
ney. At  this  time  Laura,  too,  was  awake.  And  at  this 
time  yesterday  night,  as  the  coach  rolled  over  silent 
commons,  where  cottage  windows  twinkled,  and  by 
darkling  woods  under  calm  starlit  skies,  Pen  was  vow- 
ing to  reform  and  to  resist  temptation,  and  his  heart 

was  at  home Meanwhile  the  farce  was  going  on 

very  successfully,  and  Mrs.  Leary,  in  a  hussar  jacket 
and  braided  pantaloons,  was  enchanting  the  audience 
with  her  archness,  her  lovely  figure,  and  her  delightful 
ballads. 

Pen,  being  new  to  the  town,  would  have  liked  to  lis- 
ten to  Mrs.  Leary;  but  the  other  people  in  the  box  did 
not  care  about  her  song  or  her  pantaloons,  and  kept  up 
an  incessant  chattering.  Tiptoff  knew  where  her  mail- 
lots came  from.  Colchicum  saw  her  when  she  came 
out  in  '14.  Miss  Blenkinsop  said  she  sang  out  of  all 
tune,  to  the  pain  and  astonishment  of  Pen,  who  thought 
that  she  was  as  beautiful  as  an  angel,  and  that  she  sang 
like  a  nightingale;  and  when  Hoppus  came  on  as  Sir 
Harcourt  Featherby,  the  young  man  of  the  piece,  the 
gentlemen  in  the  box  declared  that  Hoppus  was  get- 
ting too  stale,  and  Tiptoff  was  for  Hinging  Miss  Blen- 
kinsop's  bouquet  to  him. 

"  Not  for  the  world,"  cried  the  daughter  of  the  vet- 
eran Blenkinsop;  "  Lord  Colchicum  gave  it  to  me." 


PENDENNIS  447 

Pen  remembered  that  nobleman's  name,  and  with  a 
bow  and  a  blush  said  he  believed  he  had  to  thank 
Lord  Colchicum  for  having  proposed  him  at  the  Poly- 
anthus Club,  at  the  request  of  his  uncle  Major  Pen- 
dennis. 

'*  What,  you're  Wigsby's  nephew,  are  you? "  said  the 
peer.  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  we  always  call  him  Wigs- 
by."  Pen  blushed  to  hear  his  venerable  uncle  called  by 
such  a  familiar  name.  '  We  balloted  you  in  last  week, 
didn't  we?  Yes,  last  Wednesday  night.  Your  uncle 
wasn't  there." 

Here  was  delightful  news  for  Pen!  He  professed 
himself  very  much  obliged  indeed  to  Lord  Colchicum, 
and  made  him  a  handsome  speech  of  thanks,  to  which 
the  other  listened,  with  his  double  opera-glass  up  to 
his  eyes.  Pen  was  full  of  excitement  at  the  idea  of 
being  a  member  of  this  polite  Club. 

"  Don't  be  always  looking  at  that  box,  you  naughty 
creature,"  cried  Miss  Blenkinsop. 

"  She's  a  dev'lish  fine  woman,  that  Mirabel,"  said 
Tiptoff;  "though  Mirabel  was  a  d— d  fool  to  marry 
her." 

"  A  stupid  old  spooney,"  said  the  peer. 

"Mirabel!"  cried  out  Pendennis. 

"Ha!  ha!"  laughed  out  Harry  Foker.  "We've 
heard  of  her  before,  haven't  we,  Pen? " 

It  was  Pen's  first  love.  It  was  Miss  Fotheringay. 
The  year  before  she  had  been  led  to  the  altar  by  Sir 
Charles  Mirabel,  G.C.B.,  and  formerly  envoy  to  the 
Court  of  Pumpernickel,  who  had  taken  so  active  a  part 
in  the  negotiations  before  the  Congress  of  Swammer- 
dan,  and  signed,  on  behalf  of  H.B.M.,  the  Peace  of 
Pultusk. 


448  PENDENNIS 

"  Emily  was  always  as  stupid  as  an  owl,"  said  Miss 
Blenkinsop. 

"  Eh!  Eh!  pas  si  bete,"  the  old  Peer  said. 

"  Oh,  for  shame ! "  cried  the  actress,  who  did  not  in 
the  least  know  what  he  meant. 

And  Pen  looked  out  and  beheld  his  first  love  once 
again— and  wondered  how  he  ever  could  have  loved 
her. 

Thus,  on  the  very  first  night  of  his  arrival  in  Lon- 
don, Mr.  Arthur  Pendennis  found  himself  introduced 
to  a  Club,  to  an  actress  of  genteel  comedy  and  a  heavy 
father  of  the  Stage,  and  to  a  dashing  society  of  jovial 
blades,  old  and  young ;  for  my  Lord  Colchicum,  though 
stricken  in  years,  bald  of  head,  and  enfeebled  in  person, 
was  still  indefatigable  in  the  pursuit  of  enjoyment,  and 
it  was  the  venerable  Viscount's  boast  that  he  could  drink 
as  much  claret  as  the  youngest  member  of  the  society 
which  he  frequented.  He  lived  with  the  youth  about 
town:  he  gave  them  countless  dinners  at  Richmond  and 
Greenwich:  an  enlightened  patron  of  the  drama  in  all 
languages  and  of  the  Terpsichorean  art,  he  received 
dramatic  professors  of  all  nations  at  his  banquets— 
English  from  Covent  Garden  and  Strand  houses,  Ital- 
ians from  the  Haymarket,  French  from  their  own 
pretty  little  theatre,  or  the  boards  of  the  Opera  where 
they  danced.  And  at  his  villa  on  the  Thames,  this  pillar 
of  the  State  gave  sumptuous  entertainments  to  scores 
of  young  men  of  fashion,  who  very  affably  consorted 
with  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  of  the  green-room — with 
the  former  chiefly,  for  Viscount  Colchicum  preferred 
their  society  as  more  polished  and  gay  than  that  of  their 
male  brethren. 


PENDENNIS  449 

Pen  went  the  next  day  and  paid  his  entrance  money 
at  the  Club,  which  operation  carried  off  exactly  one- 
third  of  his  hundred  pounds :  and  took  possession  of  the 
edifice,  and  ate  his  luncheon  there  with  immense  satis- 
faction. He  plunged  into  an  easy  chair  in  the  library, 
and  tried  to  read  all  the  magazines.  He  wondered  whe- 
ther the  members  were  looking  at  him,  and  that  they 
could  dare  to  keep  on  their  hats  in  such  fine  rooms.  He 
sate  down  and  wrote  a  letter  to  Fairoaks  on  the  Club 
paper,  and  said,  what  a  comfort  this  place  would  be 
to  him  after  his  day's  work  was  over.  He  went  over 
to  his  uncle's  lodgings  in  Bury  Street  with  some  con- 
siderable tremor,  and  in  compliance  with  his  mother's 
earnest  desire,  that  he  should  instantly  call  on  Major 
Pendennis;  and  was  not  a  little  relieved  to  find  that 
the  Major  had  not  yet  returned  to  town.  His  apart- 
ments were  blank.  Brown  Hollands  covered  his  li- 
brary-table, and  bills  and  letters  lay  on  the  mantel- 
piece, grimly  awaiting  the  return  of  their  owner.  The 
Major  was  on  the  Continent,  the  landlady  of  the  house 
said,  at  Badn-Badn,  with  the  Marcus  of  Steyne.  Pen 
left  his  card  upon  the  shelf  with  the  rest.  Fairoaks  was 
written  on  it  still.  When  the  Major  returned  to  Lon- 
don, which  he  did  in  time  for  the  fogs  of  November, 
after  enjoying  which  he  proposed  to  spend  Christmas 
with  some  friends  in  the  country,  he  found  another  card 
of  Arthur's,  on  which  Lamb  Court,  Temple,  was  en- 
graved, and  a  note  from  that  }roung  gentleman  and 
from  his  mother,  stating  that  he  was  come  to  town,  was 
entered  a  member  of  the  Upper  Temple,  and  was  read- 
ing hard  for  the  bar. 

Lamb  Court,  Temple:— where  was  it?  Major  Pen- 
dennis remembered  that  some  ladies  of  fashion  used  to 


450  PENDENNIS 

talk  of  dining  with  Mr.  Ayliffe,  the  barrister,  who  was 
in  "  society,"  and  who  lived  there  in  the  King's  Bench, 
of  which  prison  there  was  probably  a  branch  in  the 
Temple,  and  Ayliffe  was  very  likely  an  officer.  Mr. 
Deuceace,  Lord  Crabs's  son,  had  also  lived  there,  he 
recollected.  He  dispatched  Morgan  to  find  out  where 
Lamb  Court  was,  and  to  report  upon  the  lodging  se- 
lected by  Mr.  Arthur.  That  alert  messenger  had  little 
difficulty  in  discovering  Mr.  Pen's  abode.  Discreet 
Morgan  had  in  his  time  traced  people  far  more  difficult 
to  find  than  Arthur. 

"  What  sort  of  a  place  is  it,  Morgan?  "  asked  the  Ma- 
jor out  of  the  bed-curtains  in  Bury  Street  the  next 
morning,  as  the  valet  was  arranging  his  toilet  in  the 
deep  yellow  London  fog. 

"  I  should  say  rayther  a  shy  place,"  said  Mr.  Mor- 
gan. '  The  lawyers  lives  there,  and  has  their  names  on 
the  doors.  Mr.  Harthur  lives  three  pair  high,  sir.  Mr. 
Warrington  lives  there  too,  sir." 

"  Suffolk  Warringtons!  I  shouldn't  wonder:  a  good 
family,"  thought  the  Major.  '  The  cadets  of  many  of 
our  good  families  follow  the  robe  as  a  profession. 
Comfortable  rooms,  eh? " 

"  Honly  saw  the  outside  of  the  door,  sir,  with  Mr. 
Warrington's  name  and  Mr.  Harthur's  painted  up,  and 
a  piece  of  paper  with  '  Back  at  6 ; '  but  I  couldn't  see 
no  servant,  sir." 

'  Economical  at  any  rate,"  said  the  Major. 
'  Very,  sir.     Three  pair,  sir.     Nasty  black  staircase 
as  ever  I  see.     Wonder  how  a  gentleman  can  live  in 
such  a  place." 

"  Pray,  who  taught  you  where  gentlemen  should  or 
should  not  live,  Morgan?  Mr.  Arthur,  sir,  is  going  to 


PENDENNIS  451 

study  for  the  bar,  sir;  "  the  Major  said  with  much  dig- 
nity; and  closed  the  conversation  and  began  to  array 
himself  in  the  yellow  fog. 

"  Boys  will  be  boys,"  the  mollified  uncle  thought  to 
himself.  "  He  has  written  to  me  a  devilish  good  letter. 
Colchicum  says  he  has  had  him  to  dine,  and  thinks  him 
a  gentlemanlike  lad.  His  mother  is  one  of  the  best 
creatures  in  the  world.  If  he  has  sown  his  wild  oats, 
and  will  stick  to  his  business,  he  may  do  well  yet.  Think 
of  Charley  Mirabel,  the  old  fool,  marrying  that  flame 
of  his;  that  Fotheringay!  He  doesn't  like  to  come  here 
till  I  give  him  leave,  and  puts  it  in  a  very  manly  nice 
way.  I  was  deuced  angry  with  him,  after  his  Ox- 
bridge escapades — and  showed  it,  too,  when  he  was 
here  before— Gad,  I'll  go  and  see  him,  hang  me,  if  I 
don't." 

And  having  ascertained  from  Morgan  that  he  could 
reach  the  Temple  without  much  difficulty,  and  that  a 
city  omnibus  would  put  him  down  at  the  gate,  the  Ma- 
jor one  day  after  breakfast  at  his  Club— not  the  Poly- 
anthus, whereof  Mr.  Pen  was  just  elected  a  member, 
but  another  Club:  for  the  Major  was  too  wise  to  have  a 
nephew  as  a  constant  inmate  of  any  house  where  he  was 
in  the  habit  of  passing  his  time — the  Major  one  day 
entered  one  of  those  public  vehicles,  and  bade  the  con- 
ductor to  put  him  down  at  the  gate  of  the  Upper  Tem- 
ple. 

When  Major  Pendennis  reached  that  dingy  portal 
it  was  about  twelve  o'clock  in  the  day;  and  he  was 
directed  by  a  civil  personage  with  a  badge  and  a  white 
apron,  through  some  dark  alleys,  and  under  various 
melancholy  archways  into  courts  each  more  dismal  than 
the  other,  until  finally  he  reached  Lamb  Court.  If 


452  PENDENNIS 

it  was  dark  in  Pall  Mall,  what  was  it  in  Lamb  Court? 
Candles  were  burning  in  many  of  the  rooms  there — in 
the  pupil-room  of  Mr.  Hodgman,  the  special  pleader, 
whose  six  pupils  were  scribbling  declarations  under  the 
tallow;  in  Sir  Hokey  Walker's  clerk's  room,  where  the 
clerk,  a  person  far  more  gentlemanlike  and  cheerful  in 
appearance  than  the  celebrated  counsel,  his  master,  was 
conversing  in  a  patronising  manner  with  the  managing 
clerk  of  an  attorney  at  the  door ;  and  in  the  Curling  the 
wig-maker's  melancholy  shop,  where,  from  behind  the 
feeble  glimmer  of  a  couple  of  lights,  large  Serjeants' 
and  judges'  wigs  were  looming  drearily,  with  the  blank 
blocks  looking  at  the  lamp-post  in  the  court.  Two 
little  clerks  were  playing  at  toss-halfpenny  under  that 
lamp.  A  laundress  in  pattens  passed  in  at  one  door,  a 
newspaper  boy  issued  from  another.  A  porter,  whose 
white  apron  was  faintly  visible,  paced  up  and  down.  It 
would  be  impossible  to  conceive  a  place  more  dismal, 
and  the  Major  shuddered  to  think  that  any  one  should 
select  such  a  residence.  "Good  Ged!"  he  said,  "the 
poor  boy  mustn't  live  on  here." 

The  feeble  and  filthy  oil-lamps,  with  which  the  stair- 
cases of  the  Upper  Temple  are  lighted  of  nights,  were 
of  course  not  illuminating  the  stairs  by  day,  and  Major 
Pendennis,  having  read  with  difficulty  his  nephew's 
name  under  Mr.  Warrington's  on  the  wall  of  No.  6, 
found  still  greater  difficulty  in  climbing  the  abominable 
black  stairs,  up  the  banisters  of  which,  which  contrib- 
uted their  damp  exudations  to  his  gloves,  he  groped 
painfully  until  he  came  to  the  third  story.  A  candle 
was  in  the  passage  of  one  of  the  two  sets  of  rooms ;  the 
doors  were  open,  and  the  names  of  Mr.  Warrington 
and  Mr.  A.  Pendennis  were  very  clearly  visible  to  the 


Fen  pursuing  his  law  studies 


PENDENNIS  453 

Major  as  he  went  in.  An  Irish  charwoman,  with  a 
pail  and  broom,  opened  the  door  for  the  Major. 

"Is  that  the  beer?  "  cried  out  a  great  voice:  "  give  us 
hold  of  it." 

The  gentleman  who  was  speaking  was  seated  on  a 
table,  unshorn  and  smoking  a  short  pipe;  in  a  farther 
chair  sate  Pen,  with  a  cigar,  and  his  legs  near  the  fire. 
A  little  boy,  who  acted  as  the  clerk  of  these  gentle- 
men, was  grinning  in  the  Major's  face,  at  the  idea  of 
his  being  mistaken  for  beer.  Here,  upon  the  third  floor, 
the  rooms  were  somewhat  lighter,  and  the  Major  could 
see  the  place. 

"  Pen,  my  boy,  it's  I— it's  your  uncle,"  he  said, 
choking  with  the  smoke.  But  as  most  young  men  of 
fashion  used  the  weed,  he  pardoned  the  practice  easily 
enough. 

Mr.  Warrington  got  up  from  the  table,  and  Pen,  in  a 
very  perturbed  manner,  from  his  chair.  "Beg  your 
pardon  for  mistaking  you,"  said  Warrington,  in  a 
frank,  loud  voice.  '  Will  you  take  a  cigar,  sir?  Clear 
those  things  off  the  chair,  Pidgeon,  and  pull  it  round 
to  the  fire." 

Pen  flung  his  cigar  into  the  grate;  and  was  pleased 
with  the  cordiality  with  which  his  uncle  shook  him  by 
the  hand.  As  soon  as  he  could  speak  for  the  stairs  and 
the  smoke,  the  Major  began  to  ask  Pen  very  kindty 
about  himself  and  about  his  mother;  for  blood  is  blood, 
and  he  was  pleased  once  more  to  see  the  boy. 

Pen  gave  his  news,  and  then  introduced  Mr.  War- 
rington—an  old  Boniface  man— whose  chambers  he 
shared. 

The  Major  was  quite  satisfied  when  he  heard  that 
Mr.  Warrington  was  a  younger  son  of  Sir  Miles  Warr 


454  PENDENNIS 

rington  of  Suffolk.    He  had  served  with  an  uncle  of  his 
in  India  and  in  New  South  Wales,  years  ago. 

'  Took  a  sheep-farm  there,  sir,  made  a  fortune— bet- 
ter thing  than  law  or  soldiering,"  Warrington  said. 

'  Think  I  shall  go  there,  too."  And  here,  the  expected 
beer  coming  in,  in  a  tankard  with  a  glass  bottom,  Mr. 
Warrington,  with  a  laugh,  said  he  supposed  the  Major 
would  not  have  any,  and  took  a  long,  deep  draught  him- 
self, after  which  he  wiped  his  wrist  across  his  beard  with 
great  satisfaction.  The  young  man  was  perfectly  easy 
and  unembarrassed.  He  was  dressed  in  a  ragged  old 
shooting- jacket,  and  had  a  bristly  blue  beard.  He  was 
drinking  beer  like  a  coal-heaver,  and  yet  you  couldn't 
but  perceive  that  he  was  a  gentleman. 

When  he  had  sate  for  a  minute  or  two  after  his 
draught  he  went  out  of  the  room,  leaving  it  to  Pen  and 
his  uncle,  that  they  might  talk  over  family  affairs  were 
they  so  inclined. 

"  Rough  and  ready,  your  chum  seems,"  the  Major 
said.  "  Somewhat  different  from  your  dandy  friends 
at  Oxbridge." 

'  Times  are  altered,"  Arthur  replied,  with  a  blush. 

'  Warrington  is  only  just  called,  and  has  no  business, 
but  he  knows  law  pretty  well ;  and  until  I  can  afford  to 
read  with  a  pleader,  I  use  his  books  and  get  his  help." 
"  Is  that  one  of  the  books? "  the  Major  asked,  with 
a  smile.  A  French  novel  was  lying  at  the  foot  of  Pen's 
chair. 

'  This  is  not  a  working  day,  sir,"  the  lad  said.  '  We 
were  out  very  late  at  a  party  last  night — at  Lady  Whis- 
ton's,"  Pen  added,  knowing  his  uncle's  weakness. 
"  Everybody  in  town  was  there  except  you,  sir ;  Counts, 
Ambassadors,  Turks,  Stars  and  Garters— I  don't  know 


PENDENNIS  455 

who— it's  all  in  the  paper — and  my  name,  too,"  said 
Pen,  with  great  glee.  "  I  met  an  old  flame  of  mine 
there,  sir,"  he  added,  with  a  laugh.  '  You  know  whom 
I  mean,  sir, — Lady  Mirabel — to  whom  I  was  intro- 
duced over  again.  She  shook  hands,  and  was  gracious 
enough.  I  may  thank  you  for  being  out  of  that  scrape, 
sir.  She  presented  me  to  the  husband,  too — an  old  beau 
in  a  star  and  a  blond  wig.  He  does  not  seem  very  wise. 
She  has  asked  me  to  call  on  her,  sir:  and  I  may  go  now 
without  any  fear  of  losing  my  heart." 

"  What,  we  have  had  some  new  loves,  have  we? "  the 
Major  asked,  in  high  good-humour. 

"  Some  two  or  three,"  Mr.  Pen  said,  laughing.  "  But 
I  don't  put  on  my  grand  serieux  any  more,  sir.  That 
goes  off  after  the  first  flame." 

"  Very  right,  my  dear  boy.  Flames  and  darts  and 
passion,  and  that  sort  of  thing,  do  very  well  for  a  lad: 
and  you  were  but. a  lad  when  that  affair  with  the  Foth- 
eringill— Fotheringay — (what's  her  name?)  came  off. 
But  a  man  of  the  world  gives  up  those  follies.  You 
still  may  do  very  well.  You  have  been  hit,  but  you  may 
recover.  You  are  heir  to  a  little  independence,  which 
everybody  fancies  is  a  doosid  deal  more.  You  have  a 
good  name,  good  wits,  good  manners,  and  a  good  per- 
son— and,  begad!  I  don't  see  why  you  shouldn't  marry 
a  woman  with  money — get  into  Parliament — distin- 
guish yourself,  and — and,  in  fact,  that  sort  of  thing. 
Remember,  it's  as  easy  to  marry  a  rich  woman  as  a  poor 
woman:  and  a  devilish  deal  pleasanter  to  sit  down  to 
a  good  dinner  than  to  a  scrag  of  mutton  in  lodgings. 
Make  up  your  mind  to  that.  A  woman  with  a  good 
jointure  is  a  doosid  deal  easier  a  profession  than  the 
law,  let  me  tell  you.  Look  out ;  Z  shall  be  on  the  watch 


456  PENDENNIS 

for  you:  and  I  shall  die  content,  my  boy,  if  I  can  see 
you  with  a  good  lady-like  wife,  and  a  good  carriage, 
and  a  good  pair  of  horses,  living  in  society,  and  seeing 
your  friends,  like  a  gentleman."  It  was  thus  this  affec- 
tionate uncle  spoke,  and  expounded  to  Pen  his  simple 
philosophy. 

'  What  would  my  mother  and  Laura  say  to  this,  I 
wonder? "  thought  the  lad.  Indeed,  old  Pendennis's 
morals  were  not  their  morals,  nor  was  his  wisdom  theirs. 

This  affecting  conversation  between  uncle  and 
nephew  had  scarcely  concluded,  when  Warrington 
came  out  of  his  bed-room,  no  longer  in  rags,  but  dressed 
like  a  gentleman,  straight  and  tall,  and  perfectly  frank 
and  good-humoured.  He  did  the  honours  of  his  ragged 
sitting-room  with  as  much  ease  as  if  it  had  been  the 
finest  apartment  in  London.  And  queer  rooms  they 
were  in  which  the  Major  found  his  nephew.  The  car- 
pet was  full  of  holes — the  table  stained  with  many  cir- 
cles of  Warrington's  previous  ale-pots.  There  was  a 
small  library  of  law-books,  books  of  poetry,  and  of 
mathematics,  of  which  he  was  very  fond.  (He  had 
been  one  of  the  hardest  livers  and  hardest  readers  of 
his  time  at  Oxbridge,  where  the  name  of  Stunning 
Warrington  was  yet  famous  for  beating  bargemen, 
pulling  matches,  winning  prizes,  and  drinking  milk- 
punch.)  A  print  of  the  old  college  hung  up  over  the 
mantel-piece,  and  some  battered  volumes  of  Plato,  bear- 
ing its  well-known  arms,  were  on  the  book-shelves. 
There  were  two  easy  chairs;  a  standing  reading-desk 
piled  with  bills;  a  couple  of  very  meagre  briefs  on  a 
broken-legged  study-table.  Indeed,  there  was  scarcely 
any  article  of  furniture  that  had  not  been  in  the  wars, 
and  was  not  wounded.  "  Look  here,  sir,  here  is  Pen's 


Arthur  meets  with  an 
old  acquaintance 


PENDENNIS  457 

room.  He  is  a  dandy,  and  has  got  curtains  to  his  bed, 
and  wears  shiny  boots,  and  has  a  silver  dressing-case." 
Indeed,  Pen's  room  was  rather  coquettishly  arranged, 
and  a  couple  of  neat  prints  of  opera-dancers,  besides  a 
drawing  of  Fairoaks,  hung  on  the  walls.  In  Warring- 
ton's  room  there  was  scarcely  any  article  of  furniture, 
save  a  great  shower-bath,  and  a  heap  of  books  by  the 
bed-side;  where  he  lay  upon  straw  like  Margery  Daw, 
and  smoked  his  pipe,  and  read  half  through  the  night  his 
favourite  poetry  or  mathematics. 

When  he  had  completed  his  simple  toilette,  Mr. 
Warrington  came  out  of  this  room,  and  proceeded  to 
the  cupboard  to  search  for  his  breakfast. 

"  Might  I  offer  you  a  mutton-chop,  sir?  We  cook 
'em  ourselves,  hot  and  hot;  and  I  am  teaching  Pen  the 
first  principles  of  law,  cooking,  and  morality  at  the 
same  time.  He's  a  lazy  beggar,  sir,  and  too  much  of 
a  dandy." 

And  so  saying,  Mr.  Warrington  wiped  a  gridiron 
with  a  piece  of  paper,  put  it  on  the  fire,  and  on  it  two 
mutton  chops,  and  took  from  the  cupboard  a  couple  of 
plates,  and  some  knives  and  silver  forks,  and  casters. 

"  Say  but  a  word,  Major  Pendennis,"  he  said; 
"  there's  another  chop  in  the  cupboard,  or  Pidgeon 
shall  go  out  and  get  you  anything  you  like." 

Major  Pendennis  sate  in  wonder  and  amusement, 
but  he  said  he  had  just  breakfasted,  and  wouldn't  have 
any  lunch.  So  Warrington  cooked  the  chops,  and 
popped  them  hissing  hot  upon  the  plates. 

Pen  fell  to  at  his  chop  with  a  good  appetite,  after 
looking  up  at  his  uncle,  and  seeing  that  gentleman  was 
still  in  good-humour. 

"You  see,  sir,"  Warrington  said,  "Mrs.  Flanagan 


458  PENDENNIS 

isn't  here  to  do  'em,  and  we  can't  employ  the  boy,  for 
the  little  beggar  is  all  day  occupied  cleaning  Pen's 
boots.  And  now  for  another  swig  at  the  beer.  Pen 
drinks  tea;  it's  only  fit  for  old  women." 

"  And  so  you  were  at  Lady  Whiston's  last  night," 
the  Major  said,  not  in  truth  knowing  what  observation 
to  make  to  this  rough  diamond. 

"  I  at  Lady  Whiston's!  not  such  a  flat,  sir.  I  don't 
care  for  female  society.  In  fact,  it  bores  me.  I  spent 
my  evening  philosophically  at  the  Back  Kitchen." 

"The  Back  Kitchen?  indeed!"  said  the  Major. 

"I  see  you  don't  know  what  it  means,"  Warrington 
said.  "  Ask  Pen.  He  was  there  after  Lady  Whis- 
ton's. Tell  Major  Pendennis  about  the  Back  Kitchen, 
Pen — don't  be  ashamed  of  yourself." 

So  Pen  said  it  was  a  little  eccentric  society  of  men 
of  letters  and  men  about  town,  to  which  he  had  been 
presented;  and  the  Major  began  to  think  that  the 
young  fellow  had  seen  a  good  deal  of  the  world  since 
his  arrival  in  London. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 


THE  KNIGHTS  OF  THE  TEMPLE 

OLLEGES,     schools,     and 
inns   of  court,    still    have 
some  respect  for  antiquity, 
and  maintain  a  great  num- 
ber of  the  customs  and 
institutions  of  our  an- 
cestors,   with 
which     those 
persons    who 
do  not  partic- 
ularly regard 
their     forefa- 
thers, or  per- 
haps are  not 
very  well  ac- 
quainted with 

them,  have  long  since  done  away.  A  well-ordained 
workhouse  or  prison  is  much  better  provided  with  the 
appliances  of  health,  comfort,  and  cleanliness,  than  a 
respectable  Foundation  School,  a  venerable  College,  or 
a  learned  Inn.  In  the  latter  place  of  residence  men  are 
contented  to  sleep  in  dingj^  closets,  and  to  pay  for  the 
sitting-room  and  the  cupboard,  which  is  their  dormitory, 
the  price  of  a  good  villa  and  garden  in  the  suburbs,  or 
of  a  roomy  house  in  the  neglected  squares  of  the  town. 
The  poorest  mechanic  in  Spitalfields  has  a  cistern  and 

459 


460  PENDENNIS 

an  unbounded  supply  of  water  at  his  command ;  but  the 
gentlemen  of  the  inns  of  court,  and  the  gentlemen  of 
the  universities,  have  their  supply  of  this  cosmetic 
fetched  in  jugs  by  laundresses  and  bedmakers,  and  live 
in  abodes  which  were  erected  long  before  the  custom 
of  cleanliness  and  decency  obtained  among  us.  There 
are  individuals  still  alive  who  sneer  at  the  people,  and 
speak  of  them  with  epithets  of  scorn.  Gentlemen,  there 
can  be  but  little  doubt  that  your  ancestors  were  the 
Great  Unwashed:  and  in  the  Temple  especially,  it  is 
pretty  certain,  that  only  under  the  greatest  difficulties 
and  restrictions,  the  virtue  which  has  been  pronounced 
to  be  next  to  godliness  could  have  been  practised  at  all. 
Old  Grump,  of  the  Norfolk  Circuit,  who  had  lived 
for  more  than  thirty  years  in  the  chambers  under  those 
occupied  by  Warrington  and  Pendennis,  and  who  used 
to  be  awakened  by  the  roaring  of  the  shower-baths 
which  those  gentlemen  had  erected  in  their  apartments, 
— part  of  the  contents  of  which  occasionally  trickled 
through  the  roof  into  Mr.  Grump's  room, — declared 
that  the  practice  was  an  absurd,  newfangled,  dandy- 
fied folly,  and  daily  cursed  the  laundress  who  slopped 
the  staircase  by  which  he  had  to  pass.  Grump,  now 
much  more  than  half  a  century  old,  had  indeed  never 
used  the  luxury  in  question.  He  had  done  without 
water  very  well,  and  so  had  our  fathers  before  him. 
Of  all  those  knights  and  baronets,  lords  and  gentle- 
men, bearing  arms,  whose  escutcheons  are  painted 
upon  the  walls  of  the  famous  hall  of  the  Upper  Tem- 
ple, was  there  no  philanthropist  good-natured  enough 
to  devise  a  set  of  Hummums  for  the  benefit  of  the 
lawyers,  his  fellows  and  successors?  The  Temple  his- 
torian makes  no  mention  of  such  a  scheme.  There  is 


PENDENNIS  461 

Pump  Court  and  Fountain  Court,  with  their  hydraulic 
apparatus,  but  one  never  heard  of  a  bencher  disport- 
ing in  the  fountain;  and  can't  but  think  how  many  a 
counsel  learned  in  the  law  of  old  days  might  have  bene- 
fitted  by  the  pump. 

Nevertheless,  those  venerable  Inns,  which  have  the 
Lamb  and  Flag  and  the  Winged  Horse  for  their  en- 
signs, have  attractions  for  persons  who  inhabit  them, 
and  a  share  of  rough  comforts  and  freedom,  which 
men  always  remember  with  pleasure.  I  don't  know 
whether  the  student  of  law  permits  himself  the  refresh- 
ment of  enthusiasm,  or  indulges  in  poetical  reminis- 
cences as  he  passes  by  historical  chambers,  and  says, 
'  Yonder  Eldon  lived — upon  this  site  Coke  mused 
upon  Lyttleton — here  Chitty  toiled — here  Barnwell 
and  Alderson  joined  in  their  famous  labours — here 
Byles  composed  his  great  work  upon  bills,  and  Smith 
compiled  his  immortal  leading  cases — here  Gustavus 
still  toils,  with  Solomon  to  aid  him :  "  but  the  man  of 
letters  can't  but  love  the  place  which  has  been  inhabited 
by  so  many  of  his  brethren,  or  peopled  by  their  crea- 
tions as  real  to  us  at  this  day  as  the  authors  whose  chil- 
dren they  were — and  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley  walking  in 
the  Temple  Garden,  and  discoursing  with  Mr.  Spec- 
tator about  the  beauties  in  hoops  and  patches  who  are 
sauntering  over  the  grass,  is  just  as  lively  a  figure  to 
me  as  old  Samuel  Johnson  rolling  through  the  fog 
with  the  Scotch  gentleman  at  his  heels  on  their  way  to 
Dr.  Goldsmith's  chambers  in  Brick  Court;  or  Harry 
Fielding,  with  inked  ruffles  and  a  wet  towel  round  his 
head,  dashing  off  articles  at  midnight  for  the  Covent 
Garden  Journal,  while  the  printer's  boy  is  asleep  in  the 
passage. 


462  PENDENNIS 

If  we  could  but  get  the  history  of  a  single  day  as  it 
passed  in  any  one  of  those  four-storied  houses  in  the 
dingy  court  where  our  friends  Pen  and  Warrington 
dwelt,  some  Temple  Asmodeus  might  furnish  us  with 
a  queer  volume.  There  may  be  a  great  parliamentary 
counsel  on  the  ground-floor,  who  drives  off  to  Bel- 
gravia  at  dinner-time,  when  his  clerk,  too,  becomes  a 
gentleman,  and  goes  away  to  entertain  his  friends,  and 
to  take  his  pleasure.  But  a  short  time  since  he  was 
hungry  and  briefless  in  some  garret  of  the  Inn;  lived 
by  stealthy  literature;  hoped,  and  waited,  and  sickened, 
and  no  clients  came;  exhausted  his  own  means  and  his 
friends'  kindness;  had  to  remonstrate  humbly  with 
duns,  and  to  implore  the  patience  of  poor  creditors. 
Ruin  seemed  to  be  staring  him  in  the  face,  when,  be- 
hold, a  turn  of  the  wheel  of  fortune,  and  the  lucky 
wretch  in  possession  of  one  of  those  prodigious  prizes 
which  are  sometimes  drawn  in  the  great  lottery  of  the 
Bar.  Many  a  better  lawyer  than  himself  does  not 
make  a  fifth  part  of  the  income  of  his  clerk,  who, 
a  few  months  since,  could  scarcely  get  credit  for  black- 
ing for  his  master's  unpaid  boots.  On  the  first-floor, 
perhaps,  you  will  have  a  venerable  man  whose  name 
is  famous,  who  has  lived  for  half  a  century  in  the  Inn, 
whose  brains  are  full  of  books,  and  whose  shelves  are 
stored  with  classical  and  legal  lore.  He  has  lived  alone 
all  these  fifty  years,  alone  and  for  himself,  amassing 
learning,  and  compiling  a  fortune.  He  comes  home 
now  at  night  only  from  the  club,  where  he  has  been 
dining  freely,  to  the  lonely  chambers  where  he  lives 
a  godless  old  recluse.  When  he  dies,  his  Inn  will  erect 
a  tablet  to  his  honour,  and  his  heirs  burn  a  part  of  his 
library.  Would  you  like  to  have  such  a  prospect  for 


PENDENNIS  4G3 

your  old  age,  to  store  up  learning  and  money,  and  end 
so?  But  we  must  not  linger  too  long  by  Mr.  Dooms- 
day's door.  Worthy  Mr.  Grump  lives  over  him,  who 
is  also  an  ancient  inhabitant  of  the  Inn,  and  who,  when 
Doomsday  comes  home  to  read  Catullus,  is  sitting 
down  with  three  steady  seniors  of  his  standing,  to  a 
steady  rubber  at  whist,  after  a  dinner  at  which  they 
have  consumed  their  three  steady  bottles  of  Port.  You 
may  see  the  old  boys  asleep  at  the  Temple  Church  of 
a  Sunday.  Attorneys  seldom  trouble  them,  and  they 
have  small  fortunes  of  their  own.  On  the  other  side 
of  the  third  landing,  where  Pen  and  Warrington  live, 
till  long  after  midnight,  sits  Mr.  Paley,  who  took  the 
highest  honours,  and  who  is  a  fellow  of  his  college, 
who  will  sit  and  read  and  note  cases  until  two  o'clock 
in  the  morning;  who  will  rise  at  seven  and  be  at  the 
pleader's  chambers  as  soon  as  they  are  open,  where  he 
will  work  until  an  hour  before  dinner-time;  who  will 
come  home  from  Hall  and  read  and  note  cases  again 
until  dawn  next  day,  when  perhaps  Mr.  Arthur  Pen- 
dennis  and  his  friend  Mr.  Warrington  are  returning 
from  some  of  their  wild  expeditions.  How  differ- 
ently employed  Mr.  Paley  has  been!  He  has  not  been 
throwing  himself  away:  he  has  only  been  bringing  a 
great  intellect  laboriously  down  to  the  comprehension 
of  a  mean  subject,  and  in  his  fierce  grasp  of  that,  reso- 
lutely excluding  from  his  mind  all  higher  thoughts,  all 
better  things,  all  the  wisdom  of  philosophers  and  his- 
torians, all  the  thoughts  of  poets;  all  wit,  fancy,  re- 
flection, art,  love,  truth  altogether— so  that  he  may 
master  that  enormous  legend  of  the  law,  which  he  pro- 
poses to  gain  his  livelihood  by  expounding.  Warring- 
ton  and  Paley  had  been  competitors  for  university 


464  PENDENNIS 

honours  in  former  days,  and  had  run  each  other  hard; 
and  everybody  said  now  that  the  former  was  wasting 
his  time  and  energies,  whilst  all  people  praised  Paley 
for  his  industry.  There  may  be  doubts,  however,  as 
to  which  was  using  his  time  best.  The  one  could  afford 
time  to  think,  and  the  other  never  could.  The  one 
could  have  sympathies  and  do  kindnesses;  and  the 
other  must  needs  be  always  selfish.  He  could  not  cul- 
tivate a  friendship  or  do  a  charity,  or  admire  a  work 
of  genius,  or  kindle  at  the  sight  of  beauty  or  the  sound 
of  a  sweet  song — he  had  no  time,  and  no  eyes  for  any- 
thing but  his  law-books.  All  was  dark  outside  his 
reading-lamp.  Love,  and  Nature,  and  Art,  (which  is 
the  expression  of  our  praise  and  sense  of  the  beautiful 
world  of  God),  were  shut  out  from  him.  And  as  he 
turned  off  his  lonely  lamp  at  night,  he  never  thought 
but  that  he  had  spent  the  day  profitably,  and  went  to 
sleep  alike  thankless  and  remorseless.  But  he  shud- 
dered when  he  met  his  old  companion  Warrington  on 
the  stairs,  and  shunned  him  as  one  that  was  doomed  to 
perdition. 

It  may  have  been  the  sight  of  that  cadaverous  am- 
bition and  self-complacent  meanness,  which  showed  it- 
self in  Paley's  yellow  face,  and  twinkled  in  his  narrow 
eyes,  or  it  may  have  been  a  natural  appetite  for  plea- 
sure and  joviality,  of  which  it  must  be  confessed  Mr. 
Pen  was  exceedingly  fond,  which  deterred  that  luck- 
less youth  from  pursuing  his  designs  upon  the  Bench 
or  the  Woolsack  with  the  ardour,  or  rather  steadiness, 
which  is  requisite  in  gentlemen  who  would  climb  to 
those  seats  of  honour.  He  enjoyed  the  Temple  life 
with  a  great  deal  of  relish:  his  worthy  relatives 
thought  he  was  reading  as  became  a  regular  student: 


PENDENNIS  465 

and  his  uncle  wrote  home  congratulatory  letters  to 
the  kind  widow  at  Fairoaks,  announcing  that  the  lad 
had  sown  his  wild  oats,  and  was  becoming  quite  steady. 
The  truth  is,  that  it  was  a  new  sort  of  excitement  to 
Pen  the  life  in  which  he  was  now  engaged,  and  having 
given  up  some  of  the  dandyfied  pretensions,  and  fine- 
gentleman  airs  which  he  had  contracted  among  his  aris- 
tocratic college  acquaintances,  of  whom  he  now  saw 
but  little,  the  rough  pleasures  and  amusements  of  a 
London  bachelor  were  very  novel  and  agreeable  to 
him,  and  he  enjoyed  them  all.  Time  was  he  would 
have  envied  the  dandies  their  fine  horses  in  Rotten 
Row,  but  he  was  contented  now  to  walk  in  the  Park 
and  look  at  them.  He  was  too  young  to  succeed  in 
London  society  without  a  better  name  and  a  larger 
fortune  than  he  had,  and  too  lazy  to  get  on  without 
these  adjuncts.  Old  Pendennis  fondly  thought  he 
was  busied  with  law  because  he  neglected  the  social  ad- 
vantages presented  to  him,  and,  having  been  at  half  a 
dozen  balls  and  evening  parties,  retreated  before  their 
dullness  and  sameness;  and  whenever  anybody  made 
enquiries  of  the  worthy  Major  about  his  nephew,  the 
old  gentleman  said  the  young  rascal  was  reformed, 
and  could  not  be  got  away  from  his  books.  But  the 
Major  would  have  been  almost  as  much  horrified  as 
Mr.  Paley  was,  had  he  known  what  was  Mr.  Pen's 
real  course  of  life,  and  how  much  pleasure  entered  into 
his  law  studies. 

A  long  morning's  reading,  a  walk  in  the  park,  a  pull 
on  the  river,  a  stretch  up  the  hill  to  Hampstead,  and 
a  modest  tavern  dinner;  a  bachelor  night  passed  here 
and  there,  in  joviality,  not  vice  (for  Arthur  Pendennis 
admired  women  so  heartily  that  he  could  never  bear 


4G6 


PENDENNIS 


the  society  of  any  of  them  that  were  not,  in  his  fancy 
at  least,  good  and  pure)  ;  a  quiet  evening  at  home, 
alone  with  a  friend  and  a  pipe  or  two,  and  a  humble 


potation  of  British  spirits,  whereof  Mrs.  Flanagan, 
the  laundress,  invariably  tested  the  quality; — these 
were  our  young  gentleman's  pursuits,  and  it  must  be 
owned  that  his  life  was  not  unpleasant.  In  term-time, 
Mr.  Pen  showed  a  most  praiseworthy  regularity  in  per- 
forming one  part  of  the  law-student's  course  of  duty, 


PENDENNIS  467 

and  eating  his  dinners  in  Hall.  Indeed,  that  Hall  of 
the  Upper  Temple  is  a  sight  not  uninteresting,  and 
with  the  exception  of  some  trifling  improvements  and 
anachronisms  which  have  been  introduced  into  the 
practice  there,  a  man  may  sit  down  and  fancy  that  he 
joins  in  a  meal  of  the  seventeenth  century.  The  bar 
have  their  messes,  the  students  their  tables  apart;  the 
benchers  sit  at  the  high  table  on  the  raised  platform, 
surrounded  by  pictures  of  judges  of  the  law  and  por- 
traits of  royal  personages  who  have  honoured  its  fes- 
tivities with  their  presence  and  patronage.  Pen  looked 
about,  on  his  first  introduction,  not  a  little  amused  with 
the  scene  which  he  witnessed.  Among  his  comrades  of 
the  student  class  there  were  gentlemen  of  all  ages,  from 
sixty  to  seventeen;  stout  grey-headed  attorneys  who 
were  proceeding  to  take  the  superior  dignity, — dandies 
and  men-about-town  who  wished  for  some  reason  to  be 
barristers  of  seven  years'  standing, — swarthy,  black- 
eyed  natives  of  the  Colonies,  who  came  to  be  called  here 
before  they  practised  in  their  own  islands,— and  many 
gentlemen  of  the  Irish  nation,  who  make  a  sojourn  in 
Middle  Temple  Lane  before  they  return  to  the  green 
country  of  their  birth.  There  were  little  squads  of 
reading  students  who  talked  law  all  dinner-time;  there 
were  rowing  men,  whose  discourse  was  of  sculling 
matches,  the  Red  House,  Vauxhall,  and  the  Opera; 
there  were  others  great  in  politics,  and  orators  of  the 
students'  debating  clubs;  with  all  of  which  sets,  except 
the  first,  whose  talk  was  an  almost  unknown  and  quite 
uninteresting  language  to  him,  Mr.  Pen  made  a  gradual 
acquaintance,  and  had  many  points  of  sympathy. 

The  ancient  and  liberal  Inn  of  the  Upper  Temple 
provides  in  its  Hall,  and  for  a  most  moderate  price,  an 


468  PENDENNIS 

excellent  wholesome  dinner  of  soup,  meat,  tarts,  and 
port  wine  or  sherry,  for  the  barristers  and  students  who 
attend  that  place  of  refection.  The  parties  are  arranged 
in  messes  of  four,  each  of  which  quartets  has  its  piece 
of  beef  or  leg  of  mutton,  its  sufficient  apple-pie  and  its 
bottle  of  wine.  But  the  honest  habitues  of  the  hall, 
amongst  the  lower  rank  of  students,  who  have  a  taste 
for  good  living,  have  many  harmless  arts  by  which  they 
improve  their  banquet,  and  innocent  "  dodges  "  (if  we 
may  be  permitted  to  use  an  excellent  phrase  that  has  be- 
come vernacular  since  the  appearance  of  the  last  dic- 
tionaries) by  which  they  strive  to  attain  for  themselves 
more  delicate  food  than  the  common  every-day  roast 
meat  of  the  students'  tables. 

'*  Wait  a  bit,"  said  Mr.  Lowton,  one  of  these  Temple 
gourmands.  "  Wait  a  bit,"  said  Mr.  Lowton,  tugging  at 
Pen's  gown—  "  the  tables  are  very  full,  and  there's  only 
three  benchers  to  eat  ten  side  dishes — if  we  wait,  per- 
haps we  shall  get  something  from  their  table."  And  Pen 
looked  with  some  amusement,  as  did  Mr.  Lowton  with 
eyes  of  fond  desire,  towards  the  benchers'  high  table, 
where  three  old  gentlemen  were  standing  up  before  a 
dozen  silver  dish-covers,  while  the  clerk  was  quavering 
out  a  grace. 

Lowton  was  great  in  the  conduct  of  the  dinner.  His 
aim  was  to  manage  so  as  to  be  the  first,  or  captain  of 
the  mess,  and  to  secure  for  himself  the  thirteenth  glass 
of  the  bottle  of  port  wine.  Thus  he  would  have  the 
command  of  the  joint  on  which  he  operated  his  favourite 
cuts,  and  made  rapid  dexterous  appropriations  of 
gravy,  which  amused  Pen  infinitely.  Poor  Jack  Low- 
ton  1  thy  pleasures  in  life  were  very  harmless;  an  eager 
epicure,  thy  desires  did  not  go  beyond  eighteen-pence. 


PENDENNIS  469 

Pen  was  somewhat  older  than  many  of  his  fellow-stu- 
dents, and  there  was  that  about  his  style  and  appearance 
which,  as  we  have  said,  was  rather  haughty  and  imper- 
tinent, that  stamped  him  as  a  man  of  ton — very  unlike 
those  pale  students  who  were  talking  law  to  one  another, 
and  those  ferocious  dandies,  in  rowing  shirts  and  aston- 
ishing pins  and  waistcoats,  who  represented  the  idle  part 
of  the  little  community.  The  humble  and  good-natured 
Lowton  had  felt  attracted  by  Pen's  superior  looks  and 
presence — and  had  made  acquaintance  with  him  at  the 
mess  by  opening  the  conversation. 

"  This  is  boiled-beef  day,  I  believe,  sir,"  said  Lowton 
to  Pen. 

'  Upon  my  word,  sir,  I'm  not  aware,"  said  Pen, 
hardly  able  to  contain  his  laughter,  but  added,  "  I'm  a 
stranger;  this  is  my  first  term;  "  on  which  Lowton  be- 
gan to  point  out  to  him  the  notabilities  in  the  Hall. 

'  That's  Boosey  the  bencher,  the  bald  one  sitting 
under  the  picture  and  'aving  soup ;  I  wonder  whether  it's 
turtle?  They  often  'ave  turtle.  Next  is  Balls,  the 
King's  Counsel,  and  Swettenham— Hodge  and  Swet- 
tenham,  you  know.  That's  old  Grump,  the  senior  of 
the  bar;  they  say  he's  dined  here  forty  years.  They 
often  send  'em  down  their  fish  from  the  benchers  to  the 
senior  table.  Do  you  see  those  four  fellows  seated  op- 
posite us?  They  are  regular  swells— tip-top  fellows,  I 
can  tell  you— Mr.  Trail,  the  Bishop  of  Ealing's  son, 
Honourable  Fred.  Ringwood,  Lord  Cinqbars'  brother, 
you  know.  He'll  have  a  good  place,  I  bet  any  money: 
and  Bob  Suckling,  who's  always  with  him — a  high  fel- 
low too.  Ha!  ha! "  Here  Lowton  burst  into  a  laugh. 

'  What  is  it? "  said  Pen,  still  amused. 

"  I  say,  I  like  to  mess  with  those  chaps,"  Lowton  said, 


470  PENDENNIS 

winking  his  eye  knowingly,  and  pouring  out  his  glass  of 
wine. 

"  And  why?  "  asked  Pen. 

'  Why !  they  don't  come  down  here  to  dine,  you  know, 
they  only  make  believe  to  dine.  They  dine  here,  Law 
bless  you !  They  go  to  some  of  the  swell  clubs,  or  else  to 
some  grand  dinner  party.  You  see  their  names  in  the 
'  Morning  Post '  at  all  the  fine  parties  in  London.  Why, 
I  bet  anything  that  Ringwood  has  his  cab,  or  Trail  his 
brougham  (he's  a  devil  of  a  fellow,  and  makes  the  bish- 
op's money  spin,  I  can  tell  you)  at  the  corner  of  Essex 
Street  at  this  minute.  They  dine!  They  won't  dine 
these  two  hours,  I  dare  say." 

"  But  why  should  you  like  to  mess  with  them,  if  they 
don't  eat  any  dinner? "  Pen  asked,  still  puzzled. 
"  There's  plenty,  isn't  there?  " 

"  How  green  you  are,"  said  Lowton.  "  Excuse  me, 
but  you  are  green.  They  don't  drink  any  wine,  don't 
you  see,  and  a  fellow  gets  the  bottle  to  himself  if  he 
likes  it  when  he  messes  with  those  three  chaps.  That's 
why  Corkoran  got  in  with  'em." 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Lowton,  I  see  you  are  a  sly  fellow,"  Pen 
said,  delighted  with  his  acquaintance :  on  which  the  other 
modestly  replied,  that  he  had  lived  in  London  the  better 
part  of  his  life,  and  of  course  had  his  eyes  about  him; 
and  went  on  with  his  catalogue  to  Pen. 

"There's  a  lot  of  Irish  here,"  he  said:  "that  Cor- 
koran's  one,  and  I  can't  say  I  like  him.  You  see  that 
handsome  chap  with  the  blue  neck -cloth,  and  pink  shirt, 
and  yellow  waistcoat,  that's  another:  that's  Molloy  Ma- 
loney,  of  Ballymaloney,  and  nephew  to  Major-General 
Sir  Hector  O'Dowd,  he,  he,"  Lowton  said,  trying  to 
imitate  the  Hibernian  accent.  "  He's  always  bragging 


PENDENNIS  471 

about  his  uncle;  and  came  into  Hall  in  silver-striped 
trowsers  the  day  he  had  been  presented.  That  other 
near  him,  with  the  long  black  hair,  is  a  tremendous 
rebel.  By  Jove,  sir,  to  hear  him  at  the  Forum  it  makes 
your  blood  freeze;  and  the  next  is  an  Irishman,  too, 
Jack  Finucane,  a  reporter  of  a  newspaper.  They 
all  stick  together,  those  Irish.  It's  your  turn  to  fill 
your  glass.  What?  you  won't  have  any  port?  Don't 
like  port  with  your  dinner?  Here's  your  health."  And 
this  worthy  man  found  himself  not  the  less  attached 
to  Pendennis  because  the  latter  disliked  port  wine  at 
dinner. 

It  was  while  Pen  was  taking  his  share  of  one  of  these 
dinners  with  his  acquaintance  Lowton  as  the  captain  of 
his  mess,  that  there  came  to  join  them  a  gentleman  in  a 
barrister's  gown,  who  could  not  find  a  seat,  as  it  ap- 
peared, amongst  the  persons  of  his  own  degree,  and  who 
strode  over  the  table  and  took  his  place  on  the  bench 
where  Pen  sate.  He  was  dressed  in  old  clothes  and  a 
faded  gown,  which  hung  behind  him,  and  he  wore  a  shirt 
which,  though  clean,  was  extremely  ragged,  and  very 
different  to  the  magnificent  pink  raiment  of  Mr.  Mol- 
loy  Maloney,  who  occupied  a  commanding  position  in 
the  next  mess.  In  order  to  notify  their  appearance  at 
dinner,  it  is  the  custom  of  the  gentlemen  who  eat  in  the 
Upper  Temple  Hall  to  write  down  their  names  upon 
slips  of  paper,  which  are  provided  for  that  purpose, 
with  a  pencil  for  each  mess.  Lowton  wrote  his  name 
first,  then  came  Arthur  Pendennis,  and  the  next  was 
that  of  the  gentleman  in  the  old  clothes.  He  smiled 
when  he  saw  Pen's  name,  and  looked  at  him.  '  We 
ought  to  know  each  other,"  he  said.  '  We're  both  Boni- 
face men;  my  name's  Warrington." 


472  PENDENNIS 

"  Are  you  St Warrington?  "  Pen  said,  delighted 

to  see  this  hero. 

Warrington     laughed — "  Stunning     Warrington  - 
yes,"  he  said.     "  I  recollect  you  in  your  freshman's 
term.    But  you  appear  to  have  quite  cut  me  out." 

'  The  college  talks  about  you  still,"  said  Pen,  who 
had  a  generous  admiration  for  talent  and  pluck.  "  The 
bargeman  you  thrashed,  Bill  Simes,  don't  you  remem- 
ber, wants  you  up  again  at  Oxbridge.  The  Miss  Not- 
leys,  the  haberdashers— 

"Hush!"  said  Warrington — "glad  to  make  your 
acquaintance,  Pendennis.  Heard  a  good  deal  about 
you." 

The  young  men  were  friends  immediately,  and  at 
once  deep  in  college-talk.  And  Pen,  who  had  been  act- 
ing rather  the  fine  gentleman  on  a  previous  day,  when 
he  pretended  to  Lowton  that  he  could  not  drink  port 
wine  at  dinner,  seeing  Warrington  take  his  share  with 
a  great  deal  of  gusto,  did  not  scruple  about  helping 
himself  any  more,  rather  to  the  disappointment  of  hon- 
est Lowton.  When  the  dinner  was  over,  Warrington 
asked  Arthur  where  he  was  going. 

"  I  thought  of  going  home  to  dress,  and  hear  Grisi 
in  Norma,"  Pen  said. 

"  Are  you  going  to  meet  anybody  there? "  he  asked. 

I^en  said,  "  No — only  to  hear  the  music,  of  which  he 
was  very  fond." 

"  You  had  much  better  come  home  and  smoke  a  pipe 
with  me,"  said  Warrington,— "  a  very  short  one. 
Come,  I  live  close  by  in  Lamb  Court,  and  we'll  talk  over 
Boniface  and  old  times." 

They  went  away;  Lowton  sighed  after  them.  He 
knew  that  Warrington  was  a  baronet's  son,  and  he 


PENDENNIS  473 

looked  up  with  simple  reverence  to  all  the  aristocracy. 
Pen  and  Warrington  became  sworn  friends  from  that 
night.  Warrington's  cheerfulness  and  jovial  temper, 
his  good  sense,  his  rough  welcome,  and  his  never-failing 
pipe  of  tobacco,  charmed  Pen,  who  found  it  more  pleas- 
ant to  dive  into  shilling  taverns  with  him,  than  to  dine 
in  solitary  state  amongst  the  silent  and  polite  frequent- 
ers of  the  Polyanthus. 

Ere  long  Pen  gave  up  his  lodgings  in  St.  James's,  to 
which  he  had  migrated  on  quitting  his  hotel,  and  found 
it  was  much  more  economical  to  take  up  his  abode  with 
Warrington  in  Lamb  Court,  and  furnish  and  occupy 
his  friend's  vacant  room  there.  For  it  must  be  said  of 
Pen,  that  no  man  was  more  easily  led  than  he  to  do  a 
thing,  when  it  was  a  novelty,  or  when  he  had  a  mind  to 
it.  And  Pidgeon,  the  youth,  and  Flanagan,  the  laun- 
dress, divided  their  allegiance  now  between  Warrington 
and  Pen. 


CHAPTER  XXX 


OLD  AND  NEW  ACQUAINTANCES 

LATED  with  the  idea  of  seeing 
life,  Pen  went  into  a 
hundred 
haunts. 


queer    London 
He     liked     to 


I  think  he  was  consorting 
with  all  sorts  of  men— so 
he  beheld  coalheavers  in 
their  taprooms;  boxers  in 
their  inn-parlours ;  honest 
citizens  disporting  in  the 
suburbs  or  on  the  river; 
and  he  would  have  liked 
to  hob  and  nob  with  cel- 
ebrated pickpockets,  or 
drink  a  pot  of  ale  with 
a  company  of  burglars  and  cracksmen,  had  chance  af- 
forded him  an  opportunity  of  making  the  acquaintance 
of  this  class  of  society.  It  was  good  to  see  the  gravity 
with  which  Warrington  listened  to  the  Tutbury  Pet  or 
the  Brighton  Stunner  at  the  Champion's  Arms,  and  be- 
hold the  interest  which  he  took  in  the  coalheaving  com- 
pany assembled  at  the  Fox-under-the-Hill.  His  ac- 
quaintance with  the  public-houses  of  the  metropolis  and 
its  neighbourhood,  and  with  the  frequenters  of  their  va- 
rious parlours,  was  prodigious.  He  was  the  personal 

474 


PENDENNIS  475 

friend  of  the  landlord  and  landlady,  and  welcome  to  the 
bar  as  to  the  club-room.  He  liked  their  society,  he  said, 
better  than  that  of  his  own  class,  whose  manners  annoyed 
him,  and  whose  conversation  bored  him.  "  In  society,"  he 
used  to  say,  "  everybody  is  the  same,  wears  the  same 
dress,  eats  and  drinks,  and  says  the  same  things;  one 
young  dandy  at  the  club  talks  and  looks  just  like  an- 
other, one  Miss  at  a  ball  exactly  resembles  another, 
whereas  there's  character  here.  I  like  to  talk  with  the 
strongest  man  in  England,  or  the  man  who  can  drink 
the  most  beer  in  England,  or  with  that  tremendous  re- 
publican of  a  hatter,  who  thinks  Thistlewood  was  the 
greatest  character  in  history.  I  like  gin-and-water  bet- 
ter than  claret.  I  like  a  sanded  floor  in  Carnaby  Mar- 
ket better  than  a  chalked  one  in  Mayfair.  I  prefer 
snobs,  I  own  it."  Indeed,  this  gentleman  was  a  social 
republican;  and  it  never  entered  his  head  while  convers- 
ing with  Jack  and  Tom  that  he  was  in  any  respect  their 
better ;  although,  perhaps,  the  deference  which  they  paid 
him  might  secretly  please  him. 

Pen  followed  him  then  to  these  various  resorts  of  men 
with  great  glee  and  assiduity.  But  he  was  considerably 
younger,  and  therefore  much  more  pompous  and  stately 
than  Warrington;  in  fact,  a  young  prince  in  disguise, 
visiting  the  poor  of  his  father's  kingdom.  They  re- 
spected him  as  a  high  chap,  a  fine  fellow,  a  regular 
young  swell.  He  had  somehow  about  him  an  air  of  im- 
perious good-humour,  and  a  royal  frankness  and  maj- 
esty, although  he  was  only  heir  apparent  to  twopence- 
halfpenny,  and  but  one  in  descent  from  a  gallypot.  If 
these  positions  are  made  for  us,  we  acquiesce  in  them 
very  easily;  and  are  always  pretty  ready  to  assume  a 
superiority  over  those  who  are  as  good  as  ourselves. 


476  PENDENNIS 

Pen's  condescension  at  this  time  of  his  life  was  a  fine 
thing  to  witness.  Amongst  men  of  ability  this  assump- 
tion and  impertinence  passes  off  with  extreme  youth: 
but  it  is  curious  to  watch  the  conceit  of  a  generous  and 
clever  lad — there  is  something  almost  touching  in  that 
early  exhibition  of  simplicity  and  folly. 

So,  after  reading  pretty  hard  of  a  morning,  and,  I 
fear,  not  law  merely,  but  politics  and  general  history 
and  literature,  which  were  as  necessary  for  the  advance- 
ment and  instruction  of  a  young  man  as  mere  dry  law, 
after  applying  with  tolerable  assiduity  to  letters,  to  re- 
views, to  elemental  books  of  law,  and,  above  all,  to  the 
newspaper,  until  the  hour  of  dinner  was  drawing  nigh, 
these  young  gentlemen  would  sally  out  upon  the  town 
with  great  spirits  and  appetite,  and  bent  upon  enjoying 
a  merry  night  as  they  had  passed  a  pleasant  forenoon. 
It  was  a  jovial  time,  that  of  four-and-twenty,  when 
every  muscle  of  mind  and  body  was  in  healthy  action, 
when  the  world  was  new  as  yet,  and  one  moved  over  it 
spurred  onwards  by  good  spirits  and  the  delightful  ca- 
pability to  enjoy.  If  ever  we  feel  young  afterwards,  it 
is  with  the  comrades  of  that  time:  the  tunes  we  hum  in 
our  old  age,  are  those  we  learned  then.  Sometimes,  per- 
haps, the  festivity  of  that  period  revives  in  our  memory ; 
but  how  dingy  the  pleasure-garden  has  grown,  how  tat- 
tered the  garlands  look,  how  scant  and  old  the  company, 
and  what  a  number  of  the  lights  have  gone  out  since  that 
day!  Grey  hairs  have  come  on  like  daylight  streaming 
in — daylight  and  a  headache  with  it.  Pleasure  has  gone 
to  bed  with  the  rouge  on  her  cheeks.  Well,  friend,  let 
us  walk  through  the  day,  sober  and  sad,  but  friendly. 

I  wonder  what  Laura  and  Helen  would  have  said, 
could  they  have  seen,  as  they  might  not  unfrequently 


PENDENNIS  477 

have  done  had  they  been  up  and  in  London,  in  the  very 
early  morning  when  the  bridges  began  to  blush  in  the 
sunrise,  and  the  tranquil  streets  of  the  city  to  shine  in  the 
dawn,  Mr.  Pen  and  Mr.  Warrington  rattling  over  the 
echoing  flags  towards  the  Temple,  after  one  of  their 
wild  nights  of  carouse — nights  wild,  but  not  so  wicked 
as  such  nights  sometimes  are,  for  Warrington  was  a 
woman-hater;  and  Pen,  as  we  have  said,  too  lofty  to 
stoop  to  a  vulgar  intrigue.  Our  young  Prince  of  Fair- 
oaks  never  could  speak  to  one  of  the  sex  but  with  re- 
spectful courtesy,  and  shrank  from  a  coarse  word  or 
gesture  with  instinctive  delicacy — for  though  we  have 
seen  him  fall  in  love  with  a  fool,  as  his  betters  and  in- 
feriors have  done,  and  as  it  is  probable  that  he  did  more 
than  once  in  his  life,  yet  for  the  time  of  the  delusion  it 
was  always  as  a  Goddess  that  he  considered  her,  and 
chose  to  wait  upon  her.  Men  serve  women  kneeling — 
when  they  get  on  their  feet,  they  go  away. 

That  was  what  an  acquaintance  of  Pen's  said  to  him 
in  his  hard  homely  way;— an  old  friend  with  whom  he 
had  fallen  in  again  in  London — no  other  than  honest 
Mr.  Bows  of  the  Chatteris  Theatre,  who  was  now  em- 
ployed as  piano-forte  player,  to  accompany  the  eminent 
lyrical  talent  which  nightly  delighted  the  public  at  the 
Fielding's  Head  in  Covent  Garden:  and  where  was 
held  the  little  club  called  the  Back  Kitchen. 

Numbers  of  Pen's  friends  frequented  this  very  merry 
meeting.  The  Fielding's  Head  had  been  a  house  of  en- 
tertainment, almost  since  the  time  when  the  famous  au- 
thor of '  *  Tom  Jones ' '  presided  as  magistrate  in  the  neigh- 
bouring Bow  Street;  his  place  was  pointed  out,  and  the 
chair  said  to  have  been  his,  still  occupied  by  the  presi- 
dent of  the  night's  entertainment.  The  worthy  Cutts, 


478  PENDENNIS 

the  landlord  of  the  Fielding's  Head,  generally  occupied 
this  post  when  not  disabled  by  gout  or  other  illness. 
His  jolly  appearance  and  fine  voice  may  be  remem- 
bered by  some  of  my  male  readers ;  he  used  to  sing  pro- 
fusely in  the  course  of  the  harmonic  meeting,  and  his 
songs  were  of  what  may  be  called  the  British  Brandy 
and  Water  School  of  Song— such  as  "  The  Good  Old 
English  Gentleman,"  "Dear  Tom,  this  Brown  Jug," 
and  so  forth — songs  in  which  pathos  and  hospitality  are 
blended,  and  the  praises  of  good  liquor  and  the  social 
affections  are  chanted  in  a  barytone  voice.  The  charms 
of  our  women,  the  heroic  deeds  of  our  naval  and  mili- 
tary commanders,  are  often  sung  in  the  ballads  of  this 
school,  and  many  a  time  in  my  youth  have  I  admired 
how  Cutts  the  singer,  after  he  had  worked  us  all  up  to 
patriotic  enthusiasm,  by  describing  the  way  in  which  the 
brave  Abercrombie  received  his  death-wound,  or  made 
us  join  him  in  tears,  which  he  shed  liberally  himself,  as 
in  faltering  accents  he  told  "  how  autumn's  falling  leaf 
proclaimed  the  old  man  he  must  die  "  —how  Cutts  the 
singer  became  at  once  Cutts  the  landlord,  and,  before 
the  applause  which  we  were  making  with  our  fists  on  his 
table,  in  compliment  to  his  heart-stirring  melody,  had 
died  away,  was  calling,  "  Now,  gentlemen,  give  your 
orders,  the  waiter's  in  the  room — John,  a  champagne 
cup  for  Mr.  Green.  I  think,  sir,  you  said  sausages 
and  mashed  potatoes?  John,  attend  on  the  gentle- 
man." 

"  And  I'll  thank  ye  give  me  a  glass  of  punch  too, 
John,  and  take  care  the  wather  boils,"  a  voice  would  cry 
not  unfrequently,  a  well-known  voice  to  Pen,  which 
made  the  lad  blush  and  start  when  he  heard  it  first— 
that  of  the  venerable  Captain  Costigan;  who  was  now 


PENDENNIS  479 

established  in  London,  and  one  of  the  great  pillars  of 
the  harmonic  meetings  at  the  Fielding's  Head. 

The  Captain's  manners  and  conversation  brought 
very  many  young  men  to  the  place.  He  was  a  char- 
acter, and  his  fame  had  begun  to  spread  soon  after  his 
arrival  in  the  metropolis,  and  especially  after  his  daugh- 
ter's marriage.  He  was  great  in  his  conversation  to  the 
friend  for  the  time  being  (who  was  the  neighbour  drink- 
ing by  his  side) ,  about  "  me  daughter."  He  told  of  her 
marriage,  and  of  the  events  previous  and  subsequent  to 
that  ceremony;  of  the  carriages  she  kept;  of  Mirabel's 
adoration  for  her  and  for  him;  of  the  hunther  pounds 
which  he  was  at  perfect  liberty  to  draw  from  his  son-in- 
law,  whenever  necessity  urged  him.  And  having  stated 
that  it  was  his  firm  intention  to  "dthraw  next  Sathur- 
day,  I  give  ye  me  secred  word  and  honour  next  Sathur- 
day,  the  fourteenth,  when  ye'll  see  the  money  will  be 
handed  over  to  me  at  Coutts's,  the  very  instant  I  present 
the  cheque,"  the  Captain  would  not  unfrequently  pro- 
pose to  borrow  half-a-crown  of  his  friend  until  the  ar- 
rival of  that  day  of  Greek  Calends,  when,  on  the  honour 
of  an  officer  and  a  gentleman,  he  would  repee  the  thri- 
fling  obligetion. 

Sir  Charles  Mirabel  had  not  that  enthusiastic  attach- 
ment to  his  father-in-law,  of  which  the  latter  sometimes 
boasted  (although  in  other  stages  of  emotion  Cos  would 
inveigh,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  against  the  ingratitude  of 
the  child  of  his  bosom,  and  the  stinginess  of  the  wealthy 
old  man  who  had  married  her) ;  but  the  pair  had  acted 
not  unkindly  towards  Costigan ;  had  settled  a  small  pen- 
sion on  him,  which  was  paid  regularly,  and  forestalled 
with  even  more  regularity  by  poor  Cos ;  and  the  periods 
of  the  payments  were  always  well  known  by  his  friends 


480  PENDENNIS 

at  the  Fielding's  Head,  whither  the  honest  Captain  took 
care  to  repair,  bank  notes  in  hand,  calling  loudly  for 
change  in  the  midst  of  the  full  harmonic  meeting.  "  I 
think  ye'll  find  that  note  won't  be  refused  at  the  Bank 
of  England,  Cutts,  my  boy,"  Captain  Costigan  would 
say.  "  Bows,  have  a  glass?  Ye  needn't  stint  yourself 
to-night,  anyhow;  and  a  glass  of  punch  will  make  ye 
play  con  spirito"  For  he  was  lavishly  free  with  his 
money  when  it  came  to  him,  and  was  scarcely  known 
to  button  his  breeches  pocket,  except  when  the  coin 
was  gone,  or  sometimes,  indeed,  when  a  creditor  came 

by- 

It  was  in  one  of  these  moments  of  exultation  that  Pen 
found  his  old  friend  swaggering  at  the  singers'  table  at 
the  Back  Kitchen  of  the  Fielding's  Head,  and  ordering 
glasses  of  brandy  and  water  for  any  of  his  acquaintances 
who  made  their  appearance  in  the  apartment.  War- 
rington,  who  was  on  confidential  terms  with  the  bass 
singer,  made  his  way  up  to  this  quarter  of  the  room,  and 
Pen  walked  at  his  friend's  heels. 

Pen  started  and  blushed  to  see  Costigan.  He  had 
just  come  from  Lady  Whiston's  party,  where  he  had 
met  and  spoken  with  the  Captain's  daughter  again  for 
the  first  time  after  very  old  old  days.  He  came  up  witli 
outstretched  hand,  very  kindly  and  warmly  to  greet 
the  old  man ;  still  retaining  a  strong  remembrance  of  the 
time  when  Costigan's  daughter  had  been  everything  in 
the  world  to  him.  For  though  this  young  gentleman 
may  have  been  somewhat  capricious  in  his  attachments, 
and  occasionally  have  transferred  his  affections  from 
one  woman  to  another,  yet  he  always  respected  the  place 
where  Love  had  dwelt,  and,  like  the  Sultan  of  Turkey, 
desired  that  honours  should  be  paid  to  the  lady  towards 


An  old  acquaintance 


PENDENXIS  481 

whom  he  had  once  thrown  the  royal  pocket-handker- 
chief. 

The  tipsy  Captain  returned  the  clasp  of  Pen's  hand 
with  all  the  strength  of  a  palm  which  had  become  very 
shaky  by  the  constant  lifting  up  of  weights  of  brandy 
and  water,  looked  hard  in  Pen's  face,  and  said,  "  Gre- 
cious  heavens,  is  it  possible?  Me  dear  boy,  me  dear  fel- 
low, me  dear  friend; "  and  then  with  a  look  of  muddled 
curiosity  fairly  broke  down  with,  "  I  know  your  face, 
me  dear  dear  friend,  but,  bedad,  I've  forgot  your 
name."  Five  years  of  constant  punch  had  passed  since 
Pen  and  Costigan  met.  Arthur  was  a  good  deal 
changed,  and  the  Captain  may  surely  be  excused  for 
forgetting  him;  when  a  man  at  the  actual  moment  sees 
things  double,  we  may  expect  that  his  view  of  the  past 
will  be  rather  muzzy. 

Pen  saw  his  condition  and  laughed,  although,  per- 
haps, he  was  somewhat  mortified.  "  Don't  you  remem- 
ber me,  Captain?  "  he  said.  "  I  am  Pendennis — Arthur 
Pendennis,  of  Chatteris." 

The  sound  of  the  young  man's  friendly  voice  recalled 
and  steadied  Cos's  tipsy  remembrance,  and  he  saluted 
Arthur,  as  soon  as  he  knew  him,  with  a  loud  volley  of 
friendly  greetings.  Pen  was  his  dearest  boy,  his  gal- 
lant young  friend,  his  noble  collagian,  whom  he  had 
held  in  his  inmost  heart  ever  since  they  had  parted— 
how  was  his  fawther,  no,  his  mother,  and  his  guardian, 
the  General,  the  Major.  "  I  preshoom,  from  your  ap- 
pearance, that  you've  come  into  your  prawpertee;  and, 
bedad,  yee'll  spend  it  like  a  man  of  spirit — I'll  go  bail 
for  that.  No!  not  yet  come  into  your  estete?  If  ye 
want  any  thrifle,  heark  ye,  there's  poor  old  Jack  Costi- 
gan has  got  a  guinea  or  two  in  his  pocket — and,  be 


482  PENDENNIS 

heavens!  you  shall  never  want,  Awthur,  me  dear 
boy.  What'll  ye  have?  John,  come  hither,  and  look 
aloive;  give  this  gentleman  a  glass  of  punch,  and 
I'll  pay  for't.— Your  friend?  I've  seen  him  before. 
Permit  me  to  have  the  honour  of  making  meself 
known  to  ye,  sir,  and  requesting  ye'll  take  a  glass  of 
punch." 

"  I  don't  envy  Sir  Charles  Mirabel  his  father-in-law," 
thought  Pendennis.  "  And  how  is  my  old  friend,  Mr. 
Bows,  Captain?  Have  you  any  news  of  him,  and  do 
you  see  him  still?  " 

"  No  doubt  he's  very  well,"  said  the  Captain,  jingling 
his  money,  and  whistling  the  air  of  a  song—  '  The  Lit- 
tle Doodeen  "  —for  the  singing  of  which  he  was  cele- 
brated at  the  Fielding's  Head.  "  Me  dear  boy — I've 
forgot  your  name  again — but  me  name's  Costigan,  Jack 
Costigan,  and  I'd  loike  ye  to  take  as  many  tumblers  of 
punch  in  me  name  as  ever  ye  loike.  Ye  know  me  name ; 
I'm  not  ashamed  of  it."  And  so  the  Captain  went 
maundering  on. 

"  It's  pay-day  with  the  General,"  said  Mr.  Hodgen, 
the  bass  singer,  with  whom  Warrington  was  in  deep 
conversation :  "  and  he's  a  precious  deal  more  than  half - 
seas  over.  He  has  already  tried  that  '  Little  Doodeen  ' 
of  his,  and  broke  it,  too,  just  before  I  sang  *  King 
Death.'  Have  you  heard  my  new  song,  '  The  Body 
Snatcher,'  Mr.  Warrington?— angcored  at  St.  Bar- 
tholomew's the  other  night — composed  expressly  for 
me.  Per'aps  you  or  your  friend  would  like  a  copy  of 
the  song,  sir?  John,  just  'ave  the  kindness  to  'and  over 
a  '  Body  Snatcher  '  'ere,  will  yer? — There's  a  portrait  of 
me,  sir,  as  I  sing  it — as  the  Snatcher— considered  rather 
like." 


PENDENNIS  483 

"Thank  you,"  said  Warrington;  "heard  it  nine 
times — know  it  by  heart,  Hodgen." 

Here  the  gentleman  who  presided  at  the  pianoforte 
began  to  play  upon  his  instrument,  and  Pen,  looking  in 
the  direction  of  the  music,  beheld  that  very  Mr.  Bows, 
for  whom  he  had  been  asking  but  now,  and  whose  exist- 
ence Costigan  had  momentarily  forgotten.  The  little 
old  man  sate  before  the  battered  piano  (which  had  in- 
jured its  constitution  wofully  by  sitting  up  so  many 
nights,  and  spoke  with  a  voice,  as  it  were,  at  once  hoarse 
and  faint) ,  and  accompanied  the  singers,  or  played  with 
taste  and  grace  in  the  intervals  of  the  songs. 

Bows  had  seen  and  recollected  Pen  at  once  when  the 
latter  came  into  the  room,  and  had  remarked  the  eager 
warmth  of  the  young  man's  recognition  of  Costigan. 
He  now  began  to  play  an  air,  which  Pen  instantly  re- 
membered as  one  which  used  to  be  sung  by  the  chorus  of 
villagers  in  "  The  Stranger,"  just  before  Mrs.  Haller 
came  in.  It  shook  Pen  as  he  heard  it.  He  remembered 
how  his  heart  used  to  beat  as  that  air  was  played,  and 
before  the  divine  Emily  made  her  entry.  Nobody,  save 
Arthur,  took  any  notice  of  old  Bows's  playing:  it  was 
scarcely  heard  amidst  the  clatter  of  knives  and  forks, 
the  calls  for  poached  eggs  and  kidneys,  and  the  tramp 
of  guests  and  waiters. 

Pen  went  up  and  kindly  shook  the  player  by  the  hand 
at  the  end  of  his  performance;  and  Bows  greeted  Ar- 
thur with  great  respect  and  cordiality.  '  What,  you 
haven't  forgot  the  old  tune,  Mr.  Pendennis?  "  he  said; 
"  I  thought  you'd  remember  it.  I  take  it,  it  was  the 
first  tune  of  that  sort  you  ever  heard  played— wasn't  it, 
sir?  You  were  quite  a  young  chap  then.  I  fear  the 
Captain's  very  bad  to-night.  He  breaks  out  on  a  pay- 


484  PENDENNIS 

day ;  and  I  shall  have  the  deuce's  own  trouble  in  getting 
him  home.  We  live  together.  We  still  hang  on,  sir,  in 
partnership,  though  Miss  Em— though  my  Lady  Mira- 
bel has  left  the  firm. — And  so  you  remember  old  times, 
do  you?  Wasn't  she  a  beauty,  sir? — Your  health  and 
my  service  to  you," — and  he  took  a  sip  at  the  pewter 
measure  of  porter  which  stood  by  his  side  as  he  played. 
Pen  had  many  opportunities  of  seeing  his  early  ac- 
quaintances afterwards,  and  of  renewing  his  relations 
with  Costigan  and  the  old  musician. 

As  they  sate  thus  in  friendly  colloquy,  men  of  all  sorts 
and  conditions  entered  and  quitted  the  house  of  enter- 
tainment; and  Pen  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  as  many 
different  persons  of  his  race,  as  the  most  eager  observer 
need  desire  to  inspect.  Healthy  country  tradesmen  and 
farmers,  in  London  for  their  business,  came  and  recre- 
ated themselves  with  the  jolly  singing  and  suppers  of 
the  Back  Kitchen, — squads  of  young  apprentices  and 
assistants,  the  shutters  being  closed  over  the  scene  of 
their  labours,  came  hither,  for  fresh  air  doubtless,— 
rakish  young  medical  students,  gallant,  dashing,  what 
is  called  "loudly"  dressed,  and  (must  it  be  owned?) 
somewhat  dirty, — were  here  smoking  and  drinking,  and 
vociferously  applauding  the  songs; — young  university 
bucks  were  to  be  found  here,  too,  with  that  indescribable 
genteel  simper  which  is  only  learned  at  the  knees  of 
Alma  Mater; — and  handsome  young  guardsmen,  and 
florid  bucks  from  the  St.  James's  Street  Clubs;— nay, 
senators  English  and  Irish:  and  even  members  of  the 
House  of  Peers. 

The  bass  singer  had  made  an  immense  hit  with  his 
song  of  "  The  Body  Snatcher,"  and  the  town  rushed  to 


PENDENNIS  485 

listen  to  it.  A  curtain  drew  aside,  and  Mr.  Hodgen  ap- 
peared in  the  character  of  the  Snatcher,  sitting  on  a 
coffin,  with  a  flask  of  gin  before  him,  with  a  spade,  and 
a  candle  stuck  in  a  skull.  The  song  was  sung  with  a 
really  admirable  terrific  humour.  The  singer's  voice 
went  down  so  low,  that  its  grumbles  rumbled  into  the 
hearer's  awe-stricken  soul ;  and  in  the  chorus  he  clamped 
with  his  spade,  and  gave  a  demoniac  "  Ha!  ha! "  which 
caused  the  very  glasses  to  quiver  on  the  table,  as  with 
terror.  None  of  the  other  singers,  not  even  Cutts  him- 
self, as  that  high-minded  man  owned,  could  stand  up 
before  the  Snatcher,  and  he  commonly  used  to  retire  to 
Mrs.  Cutts's  private  apartments,  or  into  the  bar,  before 
that  fatal  song  extinguished  him.  Poor  Cos's  ditty, 
'  The  Little  Doodeen,"  which  Bows  accompanied 
charmingly  on  the  piano,  was  sung  but  to  a  few  admir- 
ers, who  might  choose  to  remain  after  the  tremendous 
resurrectionist  chant.  The  room  was  commonly  emp- 
tied after  that,  or  only  left  in  possession  of  a  very  few 
and  persevering  votaries  of  pleasure. 

Whilst  Pen  and  his  friend  were  sitting  here  together 
one  night,  or  rather  morning,  two  habitues  of  the  house 
entered  almost  together.  "  Mr.  Hoolan  and  Mr. 
Doolan,"  whispered  Warrington  to  Pen,  saluting  these 
gentlemen,  and  in  the  latter  Pen  recognised  his  friend  of 
the  Alacrity  coach,  who  could  not  dine  with  Pen  on  the 
day  on  which  the  latter  had  invited  him,  being  compelled 
by  his  professional  duties  to  decline  dinner-engage- 
ments on  Fridays,  he  had  stated,  with  his  compliments 
to  Mr.  Pendennis. 

Doolan's  paper,  the  "  Dawn,"  was  lying  on  the  table 
much  bestained  by  porter,  and  cheek-by-jowl  with 
Hoolan's  paper,  which  we  shall  call  the  "Day;"  the 


486  PENDENNIS 

"  Dawn  "  was  liberal — the  "  Day  "  was  ultra  conserva- 
tive. Many  of  our  Journals  are  officered  by  Irish  gen- 
tlemen, and  their  gallant  brigade  does  the  penning 
among  us,  as  their  ancestors  used  to  transact  the  fighting 
in  Europe;  and  engage  under  many  a  flag,  to  be  good 
friends  when  the  battle  is  over. 

"  Kidneys,  John,  and  a  glass  of  stout,"  says  Hoolan. 
"  How  are  you,  Morgan?  how's  Mrs.  Doolan? " 

"  Doing  pretty  well,  thank  ye,  Mick,  my  boy — faith, 
she's  accustomed  to  it,"  said  Doolan.  "  How's  the  lady 
that  owns  ye?  Maybe  I'll  step  down  Sunday,  and  have 
a  glass  of  punch,  Kilburn  way." 

"  Don't  bring  Patsey  with  you,  Morgan,  for  our 
Georgy's  got  the  measles,"  said  the  friendly  Mick,  and 
they  straightway  fell  to  talk  about  matters  connected 
with  their  trade — about  the  foreign  mails — about  who 
was  correspondent  at  Paris,  and  who  wrote  from  Ma- 
drid—about the  expense  the  "  Morning  Journal "  was 
at  in  sending  couriers,  about  the  circulation  of  the 
"  Evening  Star,"  and  so  forth. 

Warrington,  laughing,  took  the  "  Dawn  "  which  was 
lying  before  him,  and  pointed  to  one  of  the  leading  arti- 
cles in  that  journal,  which  commenced  thus— 

"  As  rogues  of  note  in  former  days  who  had  some 
wicked  work  to  perform, — an  enemy  to  put  out  of  the 
way,  a  quantity  of  false  coin  to  be  passed,  a  lie  to  be  told 
or  a  murder  to  be  done, — employed  a  professional  per- 
jurer or  assassin  to  do  the  work,  which  they  were  them- 
selves too  notorious  or  too  cowardly  to  execute;  our  no- 
torious contemporary,  the  '  Day/  engages  smashers  out 
of  doors  to  utter  forgeries  against  individuals,  and  calls 
in  auxiliary  cut-throats  to  murder  the  reputation  of 
those  who  offend  him.  A  black  vizarded  ruffian  (whom 


PENDENNIS  487 

we  will  unmask),  who  signs  the  forged  name  of  Tre- 
foil, is  at  present  one  of  the  chief  bravoes  and  bullies 
in  our  contemporary's  establishment.  He  is  the  eunuch 
who  brings  the  bowstring,  and  strangles  at  the  order  of 
the  '  Day.'  We  can  convict  this  cowardly  slave,  and 
propose  to  do  so.  The  charge  which  he  has  brought 
against  Lord  Bangbanagher,  because  he  is  a  liberal 
Irish  peer,  and  against  the  Board  of  Poor  Law  Guar- 
dians of  the  Bangbanagher  Union,  is,"  &c. 

"  How  did  they  like  the  article  at  your  place,  Mick?  " 
asked  Morgan ;  "  when  the  Captain  puts  his  hand  to  it 
he's  a  tremendous  hand  at  a  smasher.  He  wrote  the 
article  in  two  hours — in — whew — you  know  where, 
while  the  boy  was  waiting." 

"  Our  governor  thinks  the  public  don't  mind  a  straw 
about  these  newspaper  rows,  and  has  told  the  Docther 
to  stop  answering,"  said  the  other.  *  Them  two  talked 
it  out  together  in  my  room.  The  Docther  would  have 
liked  a  turn,  for  he  says  it's  such  easy  writing,  and  re- 
quires no  reading  up  of  a  subject:  but  the  governor  put 
a  stopper  on  him." 

'  The  taste  for  eloquence  is  going  out,  Mick,"  said 
Morgan. 

"  'Deed  then  it  is,  Morgan,"  said  Mick.  "  That  was 
fine  writing  when  the  Docther  wrote  in  the  '  Phaynix,' 
and  he  and  Condy  Rooney  blazed  away  at  each  other  day 
after  day." 

"  And  with  powder  and  shot,  too,  as  well  as  paper," 
said  Morgan.  "  Faith,  the  Docther  was  out  twice,  and 
Condy  Rooney  winged  his  man." 

"  They  are  talking  about  Doctor  Boyne  and  Captain 
Shandon,"  Warrington  said,  "  who  are  the  two  Irish 
controversialists  of  the  'Dawn.'  and  the  'Day,'  Dr. 


488  PENDENNIS 

Boyne  being  the  Protestant  champion,  and  Captain 
Shandon  the  liberal  orator.  They  are  the  best  friends 
in  the  world,  I  believe,  in  spite  of  their  newspaper  con- 
troversies; and  though  they  cry  out  against  the  English 
for  abusing  their  country,  by  Jove  they  abuse  it  them- 
selves more  in  a  single  article  than  we  should  take  the 
pains  to  do  in  a  dozen  volumes.  How  are  you, 
Doolan?" 

'  Your  servant,  Mr.  Warrington — Mr.  Pendennis,  I 
am  delighted  to  have  the  honour  of  seeing  ye  again. 
The  night's  journey  on  the  top  of  the  Alacrity  was  one 
of  the  most  agreeable  I  ever  enjoyed  in  my  life,  and  it 
was  your  liveliness  and  urbanity  that  made  the  trip  so 
charming.  I  have  often  thought  over  that  happy  night, 
sir,  and  talked  over  it  to  Mrs.  Doolan.  I  have  seen  your 
elegant  young  friend,  Mr.  Foker,  too,  here,  sir,  not  un- 
f requently.  He  is  an  occasional  frequenter  of  this  hos- 
telry, and  a  right  good  one  it  is.  Mr.  Pendennis,  when 
I  saw  you  I  was  on  the  '  Tom  and  Jerry '  Weekly 
Paper;  I  have  now  the  honour  to  be  sub-editor  of  the 
'  Dawn,'  one  of  the  best  written  papers  of  the  empire  " 
—and  he  bowed  very  slightly  to  Mr.  Warrington.  His 
speech  was  unctuous  and  measured,  his  courtesy  ori- 
ental, his  tone,  when  talking  with  the  two  Englishmen 
quite  different  to  that  with  which  he  spoke  to  his  com- 
rade. 

'Why  the  devil  will  the  fellow  compliment  so?" 
growled  Warrington,  with  a  sneer  which  he  hardly  took 
the  pains  to  suppress.  "  Psha— who  comes  here?— all 
Parnassus  is  abroad  to-night:  here's  Archer.  We  shall 
have  some  fun.  Well,  Archer,  House  up? " 

"  Haven't  been  there.  I  have  been,"  said  Archer, 
with  an  air  of  mystery,  "  where  I  was  wanted.  Get  me 


PENDENNIS  489 

some  supper,  John— something  substantial.  I  hate 
your  grandees  who  give  you  nothing  to  eat.  If  it  had 
been  at  Apsley  House,  it  would  have  been  quite  differ- 
ent. The  Duke  knows  what  I  like,  and  says  to  the 
Groom  of  the  Chambers,  '  Martin,  you  will  have  some 
cold  beef,  not  too  much  done,  and  a  pint  bottle  of  pale 
ale,  and  some  brown  sherry,  ready  in  my  study  as  usual ; 
Archer  is  coming  here  this  evening.'  The  Duke  doesn't 
eat  supper  himself,  but  he  likes  to  see  a  man  enjoy  a 
hearty  meal,  and  he  knows  that  I  dine  early.  A  man 
can't  live  upon  air,  be  hanged  to  him." 

"  Let  me  introduce  you  to  my  friend,  Mr.  Penden- 
nis,"  Warrington  said,  with  great  gravity.  "  Pen,  this 
is  Mr.  Archer,  whom  you  have  heard  me  talk  about. 
You  must  know  Pen's  uncle,  the  Major,  Archer,  you 
who  know  everybody? " 

"  Dined  with  him  the  day  before  yesterday  at  Gaunt 
House,"  Archer  said.  '  We  were  four — the  French 
Ambassador,  Steyne,  and  we  two  commoners." 

'  Why,  my  uncle  is  in  Scot — "  Pen  was  going  to 
break  out,  but  Warrington  pressed  his  foot  under  the 
table  as  a  signal  for  him  to  be  quiet. 

"  It  was  about  the  same  business  that  I  have  been  to 
the  palace  to-night,"  Archer  went  on  simply,  "  and 
where  I've  been  kept  four  hours,  in  an  anteroom,  with 
nothing  but  yesterday's  *  Times,'  which  I  knew  by  heart, 
as  I  wrote  three  of  the  leading  articles  myself;  and 
though  the  Lord  Chamberlain  came  in  four  times,  and 
once  holding  the  royal  teacup  and  saucer  in  his  hand, 
he  did  not  so  much  as  say  to  me,  '  Archer,  will  you  have 
a  cup  of  tea? ' 

"  Indeed!  what  is  in  the  wind  now?  "  asked  Warring- 
ton— and  turning  to  Pen,  added,  "  You  know,  I  sup- 


490  PENDENNIS 

pose,  that  when  there  is  anything  wrong  at  court  they 
always  send  for  Archer." 

'  There  is  something  wrong,"  said  Mr.  Archer,  "  and 
as  the  story  will  be  all  over  the  town  in  a  day  or  two  I 
don't  mind  telling  it.  At  the  last  Chantilly  races,  where 
I  rode  Brian  Boru  for  my  old  friend  the  Duke  de  St. 
Cloud — the  old  King  said  to  me,  Archer,  I'm  uneasy 
about  Saint  Cloud.  I  have  arranged  his  marriage  with 
the  Princess  Marie  Cunegonde;  the  peace  of  Europe 
depends  upon  it — for  Russia  will  declare  war  if  the 
marriage  does  not  take  place,  and  the  young  fool  is 
so  mad  about  Madame  Massena,  Marshal  Massena's 
wife,  that  he  actually  refuses  to  be  a  party  to  the 
marriage.  Well,  sir,  I  spoke  to  Saint  Cloud,  and 
having  got  him  into  pretty  good  humour  by  winning 
the  race,  and  a  good  bit  of  money  into  the  bargain, 
he  said  to  me,  *  Archer,  tell  the  Governor  I'll  think 
of  it.'  " 

"  How  do  you  say  Governor  in  French?  "  asked  Pen, 
who  piqued  himself  on  knowing  that  language. 

"  Oh,  we  speak  in  English — I  taught  him  when  we 
were  boys,  and  I  saved  his  life  at  Twickenham,  when  he 
fell  out  of  a  punt,"  Archer  said.  "  I  shall  never  forget 
the  Queen's  looks  as  I  brought  him  out  of  the  water. 
She  gave  me  this  diamond  ring,  and  always  calls  me 
Charles  to  this  day." 

"  Madame  Massena  must  be  rather  an  old  woman, 
Archer,"  Warrington  said. 

"  Dev'lish  old — old  enough  to  be  his  grandmother; 
I  told  him  so,"  Archer  answered  at  once.  "  But  those 
attachments  for  old  women  are  the  deuce  and  all. 
That's  what  the  King  feels :  that's  what  shocks  the  poor 
Queen  so  much.  They  went  away  from  Paris  last  Tues- 


PENDENNIS  491 

day  night,  and  are  living  at  this  present  moment  at 
Jaunay's  hotel." 

"  Has  there  been  a  private  marriage,  Archer?  "  asked 
Warrington. 

"  Whether  there  has  or  not  I  don't  know,"  Mr.  Archer 
replied ;  "all  I  know  is  that  I  was  kept  waiting  four 
hours  at  the  palace;  that  I  never  saw  a  man  in  such  a 
state  of  agitation  as  the  King  of  Belgium  when  he  came 
out  to  speak  to  me,  and  that  I'm  devilish  hungry — and 
here  comes  some  supper." 

"  He  has  been  pretty  well  to-night,"  said  Warring- 
ton,  as  the  pair  went  home  together:  "  but  I  have  known 
him  in  much  greater  force,  and  keeping  a  whole  room 
in  a  state  of  wonder.  Put  aside  his  archery  practice, 
that  man  is  both  able  and  honest — a  good  man  of  busi- 
ness, an  excellent  friend,  admirable  to  his  family  as  hus- 
band, father,  and  son." 

'  What  is  it  makes  him  pull  the  long  bow  in  that  won- 
derful manner? " 

"  An  amiable  insanity,"  answered  Warrington.  "  He 
never  did  anybody  harm  by  his  talk,  or  said  evil  of  any- 
body. He  is  a  stout  politician  too,  and  would  never 
write  a  word  or  do  an  act  against  his  party,  as  many  of 
us  do." 

"  Of  us!  Who  are  we?  "  asked  Pen.  "  Of  what  pro- 
fession is  Mr.  Archer? " 

"  Of  the  Corporation  of  the  Goosequill — of  the 
Press,  my  boy,"  said  Warrington ;  "  of  the  fourth 
estate." 

"  Are  you,  too,  of  the  craft,  then? "  Pendennis  said. 

'  We  will  talk  about  that  another  time,"  answered  the 

other.    They  were  passing  through  the  Strand  as  they 

talked,  and  by  a  newspaper  office,  which  was  all  lighted 


492  PENDENNIS 

up  and  bright.  Reporters  were  coming  out  of  the  place, 
or  rushing  up  to  it  in  cabs ;  there  were  lamps  burning  in 
the  editors'  rooms,  and  above  where  the  compositors 
were  at  work:  the  windows  of  the  building  were  in  a 
blaze  of  gas. 

"  Look  at  that,  Pen,"  Warrington  said.  '  There  she 
is — the  great  engine — she  never  sleeps.  She  has  her 
ambassadors  in  every  quarter  of  the  world — her  couriers 
upon  every  road.  Her  officers  march  along  with  armies, 
and  her  envoys  walk  into  statesmen's  cabinets.  They 
are  ubiquitous.  Yonder  journal  has  an  agent,  at  this 
minute,  giving  bribes  at  Madrid;  and  another  inspect- 
ing the  price  of  potatoes  in  Covent  Garden.  Look !  here 
comes  the  Foreign  Express  galloping  in.  They  will  be 
able  to  give  news  to  Downing  Street  to-morrow:  funds 
will  rise  or  fall,  fortunes  be  made  or  lost;  Lord  B.  will 
get  up,  and,  holding  the  paper  in  his  hand,  and  seeing 
the  noble  marquis  in  his  place,  will  make  a  great  speech ; 
and— and  Mr.  Doolan  will  be  called  away  from  his  sup- 
per at  the  Back  Kitchen;  for  he  is  foreign  sub-editor, 
and  sees  the  mail  on  the  newspaper  sheet  before  he  goes 
to  his  own." 

And  so  talking,  the  friends  turned  into  their  cham- 
bers, as  the  dawn  was  beginning  to  peep. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 


IN  WHICH  THE  PRINTER  S  DEVIL  COMES 
TO  THE^  DOOR 

EN,  in  the  midst  of  his  revels  and 
enjoyments,  humble  as  they 
were,  and  moderate  in  cost  if 
not  in  kind,  saw  an  awful 
sword  hanging  over  him 
which  must  drop  down  before 
long  and  put  an  end  to  his 
frolics  and  feasting.  His 
money  was  very  nearly  spent. 
His  club  subscription  had 
carried  away  a  third  part  of 
it.  He  had  paid  for  the  chief 
articles  of  furniture  with 
which  he  had  supplied  his  lit- 
tle bed-room:  in  fine,  he  was 
come  to  the  last  five-pound 
note  in  his  pocket  book,  and 
could  think  of  no  method  of 


providing  a  successor:  for  our  friend  had  been  bred  up 
like  a  young  prince  as  yet,  or  as  a  child  in  arms  whom  his 
mother  feeds  when  it  cries  out. 

Warrington  did  not  know  what  his  comrade's  means 
were.  An  only  child,  with  a  mother  at  her  country 
house,  and  an  old  dandy  of  an  uncle  who  dined  with  a 
great  man  every  day,  Pen  might  have  a  large  bank  at 

493 


494  PENDENNIS 

his  command  for  anything  that  the  other  knew.  He 
had  gold  chains  and  a  dressing-case  fit  for  a  lord.  His 
habits  were  those  of  an  aristocrat, — not  that  he  was  ex- 
pensive upon  any  particular  point,  for  he  dined  and 
laughed  over  the  pint  of  porter  and  the  plate  of  beef 
from  the  cook's  shop  with  perfect  content  and  good  ap- 
petite,— but  he  could  not  adopt  the  penny-wise  precau- 
tions of  life.  He  could  not  give  twopence  to  a  waiter; 
he  could  not  refrain  from  taking  a  cab  if  he  had  a  mind 
to  do  so,  or  if  it  rained,  and  as  surely  as  he  took  the 
cab  he  overpaid  the  driver.  He  had  a  scorn  for  cleaned 
gloves  and  minor  economies.  Had  he  been  bred  to  ten 
thousand  a  year  he  could  scarcely  have  been  more  free- 
handed ;  and  for  a  beggar,  with  a  sad  story,  or  a  couple 
of  pretty  piteous-faced  children,  he  never  could  resist 
putting  his  hand  into  his  pocket.  It  was  a  sumptuous 
nature,  perhaps,  that  could  not  be  brought  to  regard 
money ;  a  natural  generosity  and  kindness ;  and  possibly 
a  petty  vanity  that  was  pleased  with  praise,  even  with 
the  praise  of  waiters  and  cabmen.  I  doubt  whether  the 
wisest  of  us  know  what  our  own  motives  are,  and 
whether  some  of  the  actions  of  which  we  are  the  very 
proudest  will  not  surprise  us  when  we  trace  them,  as  we 
shall  one  day,  to  their  source. 

Warrington  then  did  not  know,  and  Pen  had  not 
thought  proper  to  confide  to  his  friend,  his  pecuniary 
history.  That  Pen  had  been  wild  and  wickedly  extrava- 
gant at  college,  the  other  was  aware;  everybody  at  col- 
lege was  extravagant  and  wild ;  but  how  great  the  son's 
expenses  had  been,  and  how  small  the  mother's  means, 
were  points  which  had  not  been  as  yet  submitted  to  Mr. 
Warrington's  examination. 

At  last  the  story  came  out,  while  Pen  was  grimly  sur- 


PENDENNIS  495 

veying  the  change  for  the  last  five-pound  note,  as  it  lay 
upon  the  tray  from  the  public-house  by  Mr.  Warring- 
ton's  pot  of  ale. 

"  It  is  the  last  rose  of  summer,"  said  Pen;  "  its  bloom- 
ing companions  have  gone  long  ago;  and  behold  the 
last  one  of  the  garland  has  shed  its  leaves;  "  and  he  told 
Warrington  the  whole  story  which  we  know  of  his  mo- 
ther's means,  of  his  own  follies,  of  Laura's  generosity; 
during  which  time  Warrington  smoked  his  pipe  and 
listened  intent. 

"  Impecuniosity  will  do  you  good,"  Pen's  friend  said, 
knocking  out  the  ashes  at  the  end  of  the  narration ;  "  I 
don't  know  anything  more  wholesome  for  a  man — for 
an  honest  man,  mind  you — for  another,  the  medicine 
loses  its  effect — than  a  state  of  tick.  It  is  an  alterative 
and  a  tonic ;  it  keeps  your  moral  man  in  a  perpetual  state 
of  excitement :  as  a  man  who  is  riding  at  a  fence,  or  has 
his  opponent's  single  stick  before  him,  is  forced  to  look 
his  obstacle  steadily  in  the  face,  and  brace  himself  to  re- 
pulse or  overcome  it;  a  little  necessity  brings  out  your 
pluck  if  you  have  any,  and  nerves  you  to  grapple  with 
fortune.  You  will  discover  what  a  number  of  things 
you  can  do  without  when  you  have  no  money  to  buy 
them.  You  won't  want  new  gloves  and  varnished  boots, 
eau  de  Cologne,  and  cabs  to  ride  in.  You  have  been 
bred  up  as  a  molly-coddle,  Pen,  and  spoilt  by  the  wo- 
men. A  single  man  who  has  health  and  brains,  and 
can't  find  a  livelihood  in  the  world,  doesn't  deserve  to 
stay  there.  Let  him  pay  his  last  halfpenny  and  jump 
over  Waterloo  Bridge.  Let  him  steal  a  leg  of  mutton 
and  be  transported  and  get  out  of  the  country— he  is 
not  fit  to  live  in  it.  Dixi ;  I  have  spoken.  Give  us  an- 
other pull  at  the  pale  ale." 


496  PENDENNIS 

*  You  have  certainly  spoken;  but  how  is  one  to  live?  " 
said  Pen.  '  There  is  beef  and  bread  in  plenty  in  Eng- 
land, but  you  must  pay  for  it  with  work  or  money.  And 
who  will  take  my  work?  and  what  work  can  I  do?  " 

Warrington  burst  out  laughing.  "  Suppose  we  ad- 
vertise in  the  '  Times,'  "  he  said,  "  for  an  usher's  place 
at  a  classical  and  commercial  academy— A  gentleman, 
B.A.  of  St.  Boniface  College,  Oxbridge,  and  who  was 
plucked  for  his  degree — " 

"  Confound  you,"  cried  Pen. 

—Wishes  to  give  lessons  in  classics  and  mathematics, 
and  the  rudiments  of  the  French  language;  he  can  cut 
hair,  attend  to  the  younger  pupils,  and  play  a  second  on 
the  piano  with  the  daughters  of  the  principal.  Address 
A.P.,  Lamb  Court,  Temple." 

"  Go  on,"  said  Pen,  growling. 

"  Men  take  to  all  sorts  of  professions.  Why,  there  is 
your  friend  Bloundell— Bloundell  is  a  professional 
blackleg,  and  travels  the  Continent,  where  he  picks  up 
young  gentlemen  of  fashion  and  fleeces  them.  There  is 
Bob  O'Toole,  with  whom  I  was  at  school,  who  drives  the 
Ballynafad  mail  now,  and  carries  honest  Jack  Finu- 
cane's  own  correspondence  to  that  city.  I  know  a  man, 
sir,  a  doctor's  son,  like — well,  don't  be  angry,  I  meant 
nothing  offensive — a  doctor's  son,  I  say,  who  was  walk- 
ing the  hospitals  here,  and  quarrelled  with  his  governor 
on  questions  of  finance,  and  what  did  he  do  when  he 
came  to  his  last  five-pound  note?  he  let  his  moustachios 
grow,  went  into  a  provincial  town,  where  he  announced 
himself  as  Professor  Spineto,  chiropodist  to  the  Em- 
peror of  All  the  Russias,  and  by  a  happy  operation  on 
the  editor  of  the  county  newspaper,  established  himself 
in  practice,  and  lived  reputably  for  three  years.  He 


PENDENNIS  497 

has  been  reconciled  to  his  family,  and  has  now  succeeded 
to  his  father's  gallypots." 

"  Hang  gallypots,"  cried  Pen.  "  I  can't  drive  a 
coach,  cut  corns,  or  cheat  at  cards.  There's  nothing  else 
you  propose." 

"Yes;  there's  our  own  correspondent,"  Warrington 
said.  "  Every  man  has  his  secrets,  look  you.  Before 
you  told  me  the  story  of  your  money-matters,  I  had  no 
idea  but  that  you  were  a  gentleman  of  fortune,  for,  with 
your  confounded  airs  and  appearance,  anybody  would 
suppose  you  to  be  so.  From  what  you  tell  me  about 
your  mother's  income,  it  is  clear  that  you  must  not  lay 
any  more  hands  on  it.  You  can't  go  on  sponging  upon 
the  women.  You  must  pay  off  that  trump  of  a  girl. 
Laura  is  her  name? — here's  your  health,  Laura! — and 
carry  a  hod  rather  than  ask  for  a  shilling  from  home." 

"  But  how  earn  one? "  asked  Pen. 

"  How  .do  I  live,  think  you?  "  said  the  other.  "  On 
my  younger  brother's  allowance,  Pendennis?  I  have 
secrets  of  my  own,  my  boy;"  and  here  Warrington's 
countenance  fell.  "  I  made  away  with  that  allowance 
five  years  ago:  if  I  had  made  away  with  myself  a  little 
time  before,  it  would  have  been  better.  I  have  played 
off  my  own  bat,  ever  since.  I  don't  want  much  money. 
When  my  purse  is  out,  I  go  to  work  and  fill  it,  and  then 
lie  idle  like  a  serpent  or  an  Indian,  until  I  have  digested 
the  mass.  Look,  I  begin  to  feel  empty,"  Warrington 
said,  and  showed  Pen  a  long  lean  purse,  with  but  a  few 
sovereigns  at  one  end  of  it. 

"  But  how  do  you  fill  it?  "  said  Pen. 

"  I  write,"  said  Warrington.  "  I  don't  tell  the  world 
that  I  do  so,"  he  added,  with  a  blush.  "  I  do  not  choose 
that  questions  should  be  asked:  or,  perhaps,  I  am  an 


498  PENDENNIS 

ass,  and  don't  wish  it  to  be  said  that  George  Warring- 
ton  writes  for  bread.  But  I  write  in  the  Law  Reviews : 
look  here,  these  articles  are  mine."  And  he  turned  over 
some  sheets.  "  I  write  in  a  newspaper  now  and  then,  of 
which  a  friend  of  mine  is  editor."  And  Warrington, 
going  with  Pendennis  to  the  club  one  day,  called  for  a 
file  of  the  "  Dawn,"  and  pointed  with  his  finger  silently 
to  one  or  two  articles,  which  Pen  read  with  delight.  He 
had  no  difficulty  in  recognising  the  style  afterwards — 
the  strong  thoughts  and  curt  periods,  the  sense,  the  sa- 
tire, and  the  scholarship. 

"  I  am  not  up  to  this,"  said  Pen,  with  a  genuine  ad- 
miration of  his  friend's  powers.  "  I  know  very  little 
about  politics  or  history,  Warrington;  and  have  but  a 
smattering  of  letters.  I  can't  fly  upon  such  a  wing  as 
yours." 

"  But  you  can  on  your  own,  my  boy,  which  is  lighter, 
and  soars  higher,  perhaps,"  the  other  said,  good-na- 
turedly. "  Those  little  scraps  and  verses  which  I  have 
seen  of  yours  show  me,  what  is  rare  in  these  days,  a 
natural  gift,  sir.  You  needn't  blush,  you  conceited 
young  jackanapes.  You  have  thought  so  yourself  any 
time  these  ten  years.  You  have  got  the  sacred  flame— 
a  little  of  the  real  poetical  fire,  sir,  I  think;  and  all  our 
oil-lamps  are  nothing,  compared  to  that,  though  ever  so 
well  trimmed.  You  are  a  poet,  Pen,  my  boy,"  and  so 
speaking,  Warrington  stretched  out  his  broad  hand,  and 
clapped  Pen  on  the  shoulder. 

Arthur  was  so  delighted  that  the  tears  came  into  his 
eyes.  "How  kind  you  are  to  me,  Warrington!"  he 
said. 

'  I  like  you,  old  boy,"  said  the  other.  "  I  was  dev'lish 
lonely  in  chambers  and  wanted  somebody,  and  the  sight 


PENDENNIS  499 

of  your  honest  face  somehow  pleased  me.  I  liked  the 
way  you  laughed  at  Lowton — that  poor  good  little  snob. 
And,  in  fine,  the  reason  why  I  cannot  tell — but  so  it  is, 
young  'un.  I'm  alone  in  the  world,  sir;  and  I  wanted 
some  one  to  keep  me  company;  "  and  a  glance  of  ex- 
treme kindness  and  melancholy  passed  out  of  Warring- 
ton's  dark  eyes. 

Pen  was  too  much  pleased  with  his  own  thoughts  to 
perceive  the  sadness  of  the  friend  who  was  compliment- 
ing him.  "  Thank  you,  Warrington,"  he  said,  "  thank 
you  for  your  friendship  to  me,  and — and  what  you  say 
about  me.  I  have  often  thought  I  was  a  poet.  I  will 
be  one — I  think  I  am  one,  as  you  say  so,  though  the 
world  mayn't.  Is  it — is  it  the  Ariadne  in  Naxos  which 
you  liked  ( I  was  only  eighteen  when  I  wrote  it ) ,  or  the 
Prize  Poem?" 

Warrington  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter.  '  Why, 
you  young  goose,"  he  yelled  out — "  of  all  the  miserable 
weak  rubbish  I  ever  tried,  Ariadne  in  Naxos  is  the  most 
mawkish  and  disgusting.  The  Prize  Poem  is  so  pom- 
pous and  feeble,  that  I'm  positively  surprised,  sir,  it 
didn't  get  the  medal.  You  don't  suppose  that  you  are 
a  serious  poet,  do  you,  and  are  going  to  cut  out  Milton 
and  ^schylus?  Are  you  setting  up  to  be  a  Pindar,  you 
absurd  little  torn-tit,  and  fancy  you  have  the  strength 
and  pinion  which  the  Theban  eagles  bear,  sailing  with 
supreme  dominion  through  the  azure  fields  of  air?  No, 
my  boy,  I  think  you  can  write  a  magazine  article,  and 
turn  out  a  pretty  copy  of  verses ;  that's  what  I  think  of 

you." 

"By  Jove!"  said  Pen,  bouncing  up  and  stamping 
his  foot,  "  I'll  show  you  that  I  am  a  better  man  than 
vou  think  for." 


500  PENDENNIS 

Warrington  only  laughed  the  more,  and  blew  twenty- 
four  puffs  rapidly  out  of  his  pipe  by  way  of  reply  to 
Pen. 

An  opportunity  for  showing  his  skill  presented  itself 
before  very  long.  That  eminent  publisher,  Mr.  Bacon 
(formerly  Bacon  and  Bungay)  of  Paternoster  Row, 
besides  being  the  proprietor  of  the  "  Legal  Review,"  in 
which  Mr.  Warrington  wrote,  and  of  other  periodicals  of 
note  and  gravity,  used  to  present  to  the  world  every  year 
a  beautiful  gilt  volume  called  the  "  Spring  Annual," 
edited  by  the  Lady  Violet  Lebas,  and  numbering 
amongst  its  contributors  not  only  the  most  eminent,  but 
the  most  fashionable  poets  of  our  time.  Young  Lord 
Dodo's  poems  first  appeared  in  this  miscellany — the 
Honourable  Percy  Popjoy,  whose  chivalrous  ballads 
have  obtained  him  such  a  reputation— Bedwin  Sands's 
Eastern  Ghazuls,  and  many  more  of  the  works  of  our 
young  nobles  were  first  given  to  the  world  in  the 
"  Spring  Annual,"  which  has  since  shared  the  fate  of 
other  vernal  blossoms,  and  perished  out  of  the  world. 
The  book  was  daintily  illustrated  with  pictures  of  reign- 
ing beauties,  or  other  prints  of  a  tender  and  voluptuous 
character;  and,  as  these  plates  were  prepared  long  be- 
forehand, requiring  much  time  in  engraving,  it  was  the 
eminent  poets  who  had  to  write  to  the  plates,  and  not  the 
painters  who  illustrated  the  poems. 

One  day,  just  when  this  volume  was  on  the  eve  of 
publication,  it  chanced  that  Mr.  Warrington  called  in 
Paternoster  Row  to  talk  with  Mr.  Hack,  Mr.  Bacon's 
reader  and  general  manager  of  publications— for  Mr. 
Bacon,  not  having  the  least  taste  in  poetry  or  in  litera- 
ture of  any  kind,  wisely  employed  the  services  of  a  pro- 


PENDENNIS  501 

fessional  gentleman.  Warrington,  then,  going  into 
Mr.  Hack's  room  on  business  of  his  own,  found  that 
gentleman  with  a  bundle  of  proof  plates  and  sheets  of 
the  "  Spring  Annual  "  before  him,  and  glanced  at  some 
of  them. 


Percy  Popjoy  had  written  some  verses  to  illustrate 
one  of  the  pictures,  which  was  called  the  Church  Porch. 
A  Spanish  damsel  was  hastening  to  church  with  a  large 
prayer-book;  a  youth  in  a  cloak  was  hidden  in  a  niche 
watching  this  young  woman.  The  picture  was  pretty: 
but  the  great  genius  of  Percy  Popjoy  had  deserted  him, 
for  he  had  made  the  most  execrable  verses  which  ever 
were  perpetrated  by  a  young  nobleman. 


502  PENDENNIS 

Warrington  burst  out  laughing  as  he  read  the  poem: 
and  Mr.  Hack  laughed  too,  but  with  rather  a  rueful 
face.—  "  It  won't  do,"  he  said,  "  the  public  won't  stand 
it.  Bungay's  people  are  going  to  bring  out  a  very  good 
book,  and  have  set  up  Miss  Bunion  against  Lady  Violet. 
We  have  most  titles  to  be  sure — but  the  verses  are  too 
bad.  Lady  Violet  herself  owns  it;  she's  busy  with  her 
own  poem;  what's  to  be  done?  We  can't  lose  the  plate. 
The  governor  gave  sixty  pounds  for  it! " 

"  I  know  a  fellow  who  would  do  some  verses,  I 
think,"  said  Warrington.  "  Let  me  take  the  plate 
home  in  my  pocket:  and  send  to  my  chambers  in 
the  morning  for  the  verses.  You'll  pay  well,  of 
course? " 

"  Of  course,"  said  Mr.  Hack ;  and  Warrington,  hav- 
ing dispatched  his  own  business,  went  home  to  Mr.  Pen, 
plate  in  hand. 

"  Now,  boy,  here's  a  chance  for  you.  Turn  me  off  a 
copy  of  verses  to  this." 

"What's  this?    A  Church  Porch— A  lady  entering 
it,  and  a  youth  out  of  a  wine-shop  window  ogling  her.— 
What  the  deuce  am  I  to  do  with  it?  " 

"  Try,"  said  Warrington.  "  Earn  your  livelihood 
for  once,  you  who  long  so  to  do  it." 

"  Well,  I  will  try,"  said  Pen. 

"  And  I'll  go  out  to  dinner,"  said  Warrington,  and 
left  Mr.  Pen  in  a  brown  study. 

When  Warrington  came  home  that  night,  at  a  very 
late  hour,  the  verses  were  done.  '  There  they  are,"  said 
Pen.  "  I've  screwed  'em  out  at  last.  I  think  they'll 
do." 

'  I  think  they  will,"  said  Warrington,  after  reading 
them;  they  ran  as  follows:— 


PENDENNIS  503 

THE   CHURCH   PORCH. 

Although  I  enter  not, 
Yet  round  about  the  spot 

Sometimes  I  hover, 
And  at  the  sacred  gate, 
With  longing  eyes  I  wait, 

Expectant  of  her. 

The  Minster  bell  tolls  out 
Above  the  city's  rout 

And  noise  and  humming: 
They've  stopp'd  the  chiming  bell, 
I  hear  the  organ's  swell — 

She's  coming,  she's  coming! 

My  lady  comes  at  last, 
Timid  and  stepping  fast, 

And  hastening  hither, 
With  modest  eyes  downcast. 
She  comes — she's  here — she's  past. 

May  Heaven  go  with  her! 

Kneel  undisturb'd,  fair  saint, 
Pour  out  your  praise  or  plaint 

Meekly  and  duly. 
I  will  not  enter  there, 
To  sully  your  pure  prayer 

With  thoughts  unruly. 

But  suffer  me  to  pace 
Round  the  forbidden  place, 

Lingering  a  minute, 
Like  outcast  spirits,  who  wait 
And  see  through  Heaven's  gate 

Angels  within  it.       > 


504  PENDENNIS 

"Have  you  got  any  more,  young  fellow?"  asked 
Warrington.  We  must  make  them  give  you  a  couple 
of  guineas  a  page;  and  if  the  verses  are  liked,  why, 
you'll  get  an  entree  into  Bacon's  magazines,  and  may 
turn  a  decent  penny." 

Pen  examined  his  portfolio  and  found  another  ballad 
which  he  thought  might  figure  with  advantage  in  the 
"  Spring  Annual,"  and  consigning  these  two  precious 
documents  to  Warrington,  the  pair  walked  from  the 
Temple,  to  the  famous  haunt  of  the  Muses  and  their 
masters,  Paternoster  Row.  Bacon's  shop  was  an  an- 
cient low-browed  building,  with  a  few  of  the  books  pub- 
lished by  the  firm  displayed  in  the  windows,  under  a 
bust  of  my  Lord  of  Verulam,  and  the  name  of  Mr. 
Bacon  in  brass  on  the  private  door.  Exactly  opposite 
to  Bacon's  house  was  that  of  Mr.  Bungay,  which  was 
newly  painted  and  elaborately  decorated  in  the  style  of 
the  seventeenth  century,  so  that  you  might  have  fancied 
stately  Mr.  Evelyn  passing  over  the  threshold,  or  curi- 
ous Mr.  Pepys  examining  the  books  in  the  window. 
Warrington  went  into  the  shop  of  Mr.  Bacon,  but  Pen 
stayed  without.  It  was  agreed  that  his  ambassador 
should  act  for  him  entirely ;  and  the  young  fellow  paced 
up  and  down  the  street  in  a  very  nervous  condition, 
until  he  should  learn  the  result  of  the  negotiation. 
Many  a  poor  devil  before  him  has  trodden  those  flags, 
with  similar  cares  and  anxieties  at  his  heels,  his  bread 
and  his  fame  dependent  upon  the  sentence  of  his  mag- 
nanimous patrons  of  the  Row.  Pen  looked  at  all  the 
wonders  of  all  the  shops;  and  the  strange  variety  of  lit- 
erature which  they  exhibit.  In  this  were  displayed 
black-letter  volumes  and  books  in  the  clear  pale  types 
of  Aldus  and  Elzevir:  in  the  next,  you  might  see  the 


PENDENNIS  505 

"  Penny  Horrific  Register;  "  the  "  Halfpenny  Annals 
of  Crime,"  and  "  History  of  the  most  celebrated  mur- 
derers of  all  countries,"  "  The  Raff's  Magazine,"  "  The 
Larky  Swell,"  and  other  publications  of  the  penny 
press;  whilst  at  the  next  window,  portraits  of  ill- 
favoured  individuals,  with  fac-similes  of  the  venerated 
signatures  of  the  Reverend  Grimes  Wapshot,  the  Rev- 
erend Elias  Howie,  and  the  works  written  and  the  ser- 
mons preached  by  them,  showed  the  British  Dissenter 
where  he  could  find  mental  pabulum.  Hard  by  would 
be  a  little  casement  hung  with  emblems,  with  medals 
and  rosaries,  with  little  paltry  prints  of  saints  gilt  and 
painted,  and  books  of  controversial  theology,  by  which 
the  faithful  of  the  Roman  opinion  might  learn  a  short 
way  to  deal  with  Protestants,  at  a  penny  apiece,  or 
ninepence  the  dozen  for  distribution;  whilst  in  the  very 
next  window  you  might  see  "  Come  out  of  Rome,"  a 
sermon  preached  at  the  opening  of  the  Shepherd's  Bush 
College,  by  John  Thomas  Lord  Bishop  of  Ealing. 
Scarce  an  opinion  but  has  its  expositor  and  its  place  of 
exhibition  in  this  peaceful  old  Paternoster  Row,  under 
the  toll  of  the  bells  of  Saint  Paul. 

Pen  looked  in  at  all  the  windows  and  shops,  as  a  gen- 
tleman, who  is  going  to  have  an  interview  with  the  den- 
tist, examines  the  books  on  the  waiting-room  table.  He 
remembered  them  afterwards.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
Warrington  would  never  come  out;  and  indeed  the  lat- 
ter was  engaged  for  some  time  in  pleading  his  friend's 
cause. 

Pen's  natural  conceit  would  have  swollen  immensely 
if  he  could  but  have  heard  the  report  which  Warrington 
gave  of  him.  It  happened  that  Mr.  Bacon  himself  had 
occasion  to  descend  to  Mr.  Hack's  room  whilst  War- 


506  PENDENNIS 

rington  was  talking  there,  and  Warrington,  knowing 
Bacon's  weaknesses,  acted  upon  them  with  great  adroit- 
ness in  his  friend's  behalf.  In  the  first  place,  he  put  on 
his  hat  to  speak  to  Bacon,  and  addressed  him  from  the 
table  on  which  he  seated  himself.  Bacon  liked  to  be 
treated  with  rudeness  by  a  gentleman,  and  used  to  pass 
it  on  to  his  inferiors  as  boys  pass  the  mark.  '  What !  not 
know  Mr.  Pendennis,  Mr.  Bacon?"  Warrington  said. 
"  You  can't  live  much  in  the  world,  or  you  would  know 
him.  A  man  of  property  in  the  West,  of  one  of  the 
most  ancient  families  in  England,  related  to  half  the 
nobility  in  the  empire — he's  cousin  to  Lord  Pontypool 
—he  was  one  of  the  most  distinguished  men  at  Ox- 
bridge; he  dines  at  Gaunt  House  every  week." 

"  Law  bless  me,  you  don't  say  so,  sir.  Well — really 
— Law  bless  me  now,"  said  Mr.  Bacon. 

"  I  have  just  been  showing  Mr.  Hack  some  of  his 
verses,  which  he  sat  up  last  night,  at  my  request,  to 
write;  and  Hack  talks  about  giving  him  a  copy  of  the 
book— the  what-d'-you-call-'em." 

"  Law  bless  me  now,  does  he?  The  what-d'-you-call- 
'em.  Indeed!" 

"  '  The  Spring  Annual '  is  its  name,— as  payment  for 
these  verses.  You  don't  suppose  that  such  a  man  as  Mr. 
Arthur  Pendennis  gives  up  a  dinner  at  Gaunt  House 
for  nothing?  You  know,  as  well  as  anybody,  that  the 
men  of  fashion  want  to  be  paid." 

'  That  they  do,  Mr.  Warrington,  sir,"  said  the  pub- 
lisher. 

"  I  tell  you  he's  a  star;  he'll  make  a  name,  sir.  He's 
a  new  man,  sir." 

'  They've  said  that  of  so  many  of  those  young  swells, 
Mr.  Warrington,"  the  publisher  interposed,  with  a  sigh. 


PENDENNIS  507 

*  There  was  Lord  Viscount  Dodo,  now;  I  gave  his 
Lordship  a  good  bit  of  money  for  his  poems,  and  only 
sold  eighty  copies.  Mr.  Pop  joy's  Hadgincourt,  sir,  fell 
dead." 

'  Well,  then,  I'll  take  my  man  over  to  Bungay," 
Warrington  said,  and  rose  from  the  table.  This  threat 
was  too  much  for  Mr.  Bacon,  who  was  instantly  ready 
to  accede  to  any  reasonable  proposal  of  Mr.  Warring- 
ton's,  and  finally  asked  his  manager  what  those  pro- 
posals were?  When  he  heard  that  the  negotiation  only 
related  as  yet  to  a  couple  of  ballads,  which  Mr.  War- 
rington offered  for  the  "  Spring  Annual,"  Mr.  Bacon 
said,  "  Law  bless  you,  give  him  a  cheque  directly ;  "  and 
with  this  paper  Warrington  went  out  to  his  friend,  and 
placed  it,  grinning,  in  Pen's  hands.  Pen  was  as  elated 
as  if  somebody  had  left  him  a  fortune.  He  offered 
Warrington  a  dinner  at  Richmond  instantly.  "  What 
should  he  go  and  buy  for  Laura  and  his  mother?  He 
must  buy  something  for  them." 

*  They'll  like  the  book  better  than  anything  else," 
said  Warrington,  "  with  the  young  one's  name  to  the 
verses,  printed  among  the  swells." 

"  Thank  God!  thank  God!  "  cried  Arthur,  "  I  needn't 
be  a  charge  upon  the  old  mother.  I  can  pay  off  Laura 
now.  I  can  get  my  own  living.  I  can  make  my  own  way." 

"  I  can  marry  the  grand  vizier's  daughter:  I  can  pur- 
chase a  house  in  Belgrave  Square;  I  can  build  a  fine 
castle  in  the  air;"  said  Warrington,  pleased  with  the 
other's  exultation.  '  Well,  you  may  get  bread  and 
cheese,  Pen:  and  I  own  it  tastes  well,  the  bread  which 
you  earn  yourself." 

They  had  a  magnum  of  claret  at  dinner  at  the  club 
that  day,  at  Pen's  charges.  It  was  long  since  he  had  in- 


508  PENDENNIS 

dulged  in  such  a  luxury,  but  Warrington  would  not 
baulk  him :  and  they  drank  together  to  the  health  of  the 
"  Spring  Annual." 

It  never  rains  but  it  pours,  according  to  the  proverb; 
so  very  speedily  another  chance  occurred,  by  which  Mr. 
Pen  was  to  be  helped  in  his  scheme  of  making  a  liveli- 
hood. Warrington  one  day  threw  him  a  letter  across  the 
table,  which  was  brought  by  a  printer's  boy,  "  from 
Captain  Shandon,  sir  "  —the  little  emissary  said :  and 
then  went  and  fell  asleep  on  his  accustomed  bench  in 
the  passage.  He  paid  many  a  subsequent  visit  there, 
and  brought  many  a  message  to  Pen. 

"  F.  P.  Tuesday  Morning. 
"  MY  DEAR  SIR, 

"  Bungay  will  be  here  to-day,  about  the  '  Pall-Mall  Gazette.' 
You  would  be  the  very  man  to  help  us  with  a  genuine  West-end 
article, — you  understand — dashing,  trenchant,  and  d aris- 
tocratic. Lady  Hipshaw  will  write;  but  she's  not  much  you 
know,  and  we've  two  lords ;  but  the  less  they  do  the  better.  We 
must  have  you.  We'll  give  you  your  own  terms,  and  we'll  make 
a  hit  with  the  *  Gazette.' 

"  Shall  B.  come  and  see  you,  or  can  you  look  in  upon  me  here? 

"  Ever  yours, 

"  C.  S." 

"  Some  more  opposition,"  Warrington  said,  when  Pen 
had  read  the  note.  "  Bungay  and  Bacon  are  at  daggers 
drawn;  each  married  the  sister  of  the  other,  and  they 
were  for  some  time  the  closest  friends  and  partners. 
Hack  says  it  was  Mrs.  Bungay  who  caused  all  the  mis- 
chief between  the  two ;  whereas  Shandon,  who  reads  for 
Bungay  a  good  deal,  says  Mrs.  Bacon  did  the  business ; 
but  I  don't  know  which  is  right,  Peachum  or  Lockit. 


PENDENNIS  509 

Since  they  have  separated,  it  is  a  furious  war  between 
the  two  publishers;  and  no  sooner  does  one  bring  out 
a  book  of  travels,  or  poems,  a  magazine  or  periodical, 
quarterly,  or  monthly,  or  weekly,  or  annual,  but  the  rival 
is  in  the  field  with  something  similar.  I  have  heard  poor 
Shandon  tell  with  great  glee  how  he  made  Bungay  give 
a  grand  dinner  at  Blackwall  to  all  his  writers,  by  saying 
that  Bacon  had  invited  his  corps  to  an  entertainment  at 
Greenwich.  When  Bungay  engaged  your  celebrated 
friend  Mr.  Wagg  to  edit  the  '  Londoner,'  Bacon 
straightway  rushed  off  and  secured  Mr.  Grindle  to  give 
his  name  to  the  '  Westminster  Magazine.'  When  Bacon 
brought  out  his  comic  Irish  novel  of  '  Barney  Bralla- 
ghan,'  off  went  Bungay  to  Dublin,  and  produced  his  rol- 
licking Hibernian  story  of  '  Looney  Mac  Twolter.' 
When  Doctor  Hicks  brought  out  his  '  Wanderings  in 
Mesopotamia '  under  Bacon's  auspices,  Bungay  pro- 
duced Professor  Sadiman's  '  Researches  in  Zahara ; '  and 
Bungay  is  publishing  his  '  Pall-Mall  Gazette  '  as  a  coun- 
terpoise to  Bacon's  *  Whitehall  Review.'  Let  us  go  and 
hear  about  the  '  Gazette.'  There  may  be  a  place  for 
you  in  it,  Pen,  my  boy.  We  will  go  and  see  Shandon. 
We  are  sure  to  find  him  at  home." 

'  Where  does  he  live?  "  asked  Pen. 

"  In  the  Fleet  Prison,"  Warrington  said.  "  And  very 
much  at  home  he  is  there  too.  He  is  the  king  of  the 
place." 

Pen  had  never  seen  this  scene  of  London  life,  and 
walked  with  no  small  interest  in  at  the  grim  gate  of  that 
dismal  edifice.  They  went  through  the  ante-room,  where 
the  officers  and  janitors  of  the  place  were  seated,  and 
passing  in  at  the  wicket,  entered  the  prison.  The  noise 
and  the  crowd,  the  life  and  the  shouting,  the  shabby  bus- 


510  PENDENNIS 

tie  of  the  place,  struck  and  excited  Pen.  People  moved 
about  ceaselessly  and  restless,  like  caged  animals  in  a 
menagerie.  Men  were  playing  at  fives.  Others  pacing 
and  tramping:  this  one  in  colloquy  with  his  lawyer  in 
dingy  black — that  one  walking  sadly,  with  his  wife  by 
his  side,  and  a  child  on  his  arm.  Some  were  arrayed  in 
tattered  dressing  gowns,  and  had  a  look  of  rakish  fash- 
ion. Everybody  seemed  to  be  busy,  humming,  and  on 
the  move.  Pen  felt  as  if  he  choked  in  the  place,  and  as 
if  the  door  being  locked  upon  him  they  never  would  let 
him  out. 

They  went  through  a  court  up  a  stone  staircase,  and 
through  passages  full  of  people,  and  noise,  and  cross 
lights,  and  black  doors  clapping  and  banging; — Pen 
feeling  as  one  does  in  a  feverish  morning-dream.  At 
last  the  same  little  runner  who  had  brought  Shandon's 
note,  and  had  followed  them  down  Fleet  Street  munch- 
ing apples,  and  who  showed  the  way  to  the  two  gentle- 
men through  the  prison,  said,  "  This  is  the  Captain's 
door,"  and  Mr.  Shandon's  voice  from  within  bade  them 
enter. 

The  room,  though  bare,  was  not  uncheerful.  The  sun 
was  shining  in  at  the  window— near  which  sate  a  lady 
at  work,  who  had  been  gay  and  beautiful  once,  but  in 
whose  faded  face  kindness  and  tenderness  still  beamed. 
Through  all  his  errors  and  reckless  mishaps  and  misfor- 
tunes, this  faithful  creature  adored  her  husband,  and 
thought  him  the  best  and  cleverest,  as  indeed  he  was  one 
of  the  kindest  of  men.  Nothing  ever  seemed  to  disturb 
the  sweetness  of  his  temper;  not  debts;  not  duns:  not 
misery:  not  the  bottle:  not  his  wife's  unhappy  position, 
or  his  children's  ruined  chances.  He  was  perfectly  fond 
of  wife  and  children  after  his  fashion :  he  always  had  the 


The  Pall  Mall  Gazette 


PENDENNIS  511 

kindest  words  and  smiles  for  them,  and  ruined  them  with 
the  utmost  sweetness  of  temper.  He  never  could  refuse 
himself  or  any  man  any  enjoyment  which  his  money 
could  purchase;  he  would  share  his  last  guinea  with 
Jack  and  Tom,  and  we  may  be  sure  he  had  a  score  of 
such  retainers.  He  would  sign  his  name  at  the  back  of 
any  man's  bill,  and  never  pay  any  debt  of  his  own.  He 
would  write  on  any  side,  and  attack  himself  or  another 
man  with  equal  indifference.  He  was  one  of  the  witti- 
est, the  most  amiable,  and  the  most  incorrigible  of  Irish- 
men. Nobody  could  help  liking  Charley  Shandon  who 
saw  him  once,  and  those  whom  he  ruined  could  scarcely 
be  angry  with  him. 

When  Pen  and  Warrington  arrived,  the  Captain  (he 
had  been  in  an  Irish  militia  regiment  once,  and  the  title 
remained  with  him)  was  sitting  on  his  bed  in  a  torn 
dressing-gown,  with  a  desk  on  his  knees,  at  which  he 
was  scribbling  as  fast  as  his  rapid  pen  could  write.  Slip 
after  slip  of  paper  fell  off  the  desk  wet  on  to  the  ground. 
A  picture  of  his  children  was  hung  up  over  his  bed,  and 
the  youngest  of  them  was  pattering  about  the  room. 

Opposite  the  Captain  sate  Mr.  Bungay,  a  portly  man 
of  stolid  countenance,  with  whom  the  little  child  had 
been  trying  a  conversation. 

'  Papa's  a  very  clever  man,"  said  she;  "  mamma  says 
so." 

"  Oh,  very,"  said  Mr.  Bungay. 

"  And  you're  a  very  rich  man,  Mr.  Bundy,"  cried  the 
child,  who  could  hardly  speak  plain. 

"  Mary!  "  said  Mamma,  from  her  work. 

"  Oh,  never  mind,"  Bungay  roared  out  with  a  great 
laugh;  "no  harm  in  saying  I'm  rich— he,  he— I  am 
pretty  well  off,  my  little  dear." 


512  PENDENNIS 

"  If  you're  rich,  why  don't  you  take  papa  out  of 
piz'n?  "  asked  the  child. 

Mamma  at  this  began  to  wipe  her  eyes  with  the  work 
on  which  she  was  employed.  ( The  poor  lady  had  hung 
curtains  up  in  the  room,  had  brought  the  children's  pic- 
ture and  placed  it  there,  and  had  made  one  or  two  at- 
tempts to  ornament  it.)  Mamma  began  to  cry;  Mr. 
Bungay  turned  red,  and  looked  fiercely  out  of  his  blood- 
shot little  eyes;  Shandon's  pen  went  on,  and  Pen  and 
Warrington  arrived  with  their  knock. 

Captain  Shandon  looked  up  from  his  work.  "  How 
do  you  do,  Mr.  Warrington,"  he  said.  "  I'll  speak  to 
you  in  a  minute.  Please  sit  down,  gentlemen,  if  you  can 
find  places,"  and  away  went  the  pen  again. 

Warrington  pulled  forward  an  old  portmanteau — the 
only  available  seat— and  sate  down  on  it  with  a  bow  to 
Mrs.  Shandon,  and  a  nod  to  Bungay;  the  child  came 
and  looked  at  Pen  solemnly ;  and  in  a  couple  of  minutes 
the  swift  scribbling  ceased;  and  Shandon,  turning  the 
desk  over  on  the  bed,  stooped  and  picked  up  the  papers. 

"  I  think  this  will  do,"  said  he.  "  It's  the  prospectus 
for  the  *  Pall-Mali  Gazette.'  " 

"  And  here's  the  money  for  it,"  Mr.  Bungay  said,  lay- 
ing down  a  five-pound  note.  "  I'm  as  good  as  my  word, 
I  am.  When  I  say  I'll  pay,  I  pay." 

"  Faith  that's  more  than  some  of  us  can  say,"  said 
Shandon,  and  he  eagerly  clapped  the  note  into  his 
pocket. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 


WHICH  IS  PASSED  IN  THE  NEIGHBOURHOOD  OF 
LUDGATE    HILL 

UR  imprisoned  Cap- 
tain announced, 
in  smart  and  em- 
phatic language 
in  his  prospectus, 
that  the  time  had 
come  at  last  when 
it  was  necessary 
for  the  gentlemen 
of  England  to 
band  together  in 
defence  of  their 
common  rights, 
and  their  glorious 
order,  menaced  on 
all  sides  by  for- 
eign revolutions,  by  intestine  radicalism,  by  the  artful 
calumnies  of  mill-owners  and  cotton-lords,  and  the  stupid 
hostility  of  the  masses  whom  they  gulled  and  led.  '  The 
ancient  monarchy  was  insulted,"  the  Captain  said,  "  by 
a  ferocious  republican  rabble.  The  Church  was  deserted 
by  envious  dissent,  and  undermined  by  stealthy  infidel- 
ity. The  good  institutions,  which  had  made  our  country 
glorious,  and  the  name  of  English  Gentlemen  the  proud- 
est in  the  world,  were  left  without  defence,  and  exposed 

sis 


514  PENDENNIS 

to  assault  and  contumely  from  men  to  whom  no  sanctu- 
ary was  sacred,  for  they  believed  in  nothing  holy;  no 
history  venerable,  for  they  were  too  ignorant  to  have 
heard  of  the  past;  and  no  law  was  binding  which  they 
were  strong  enough  to  break,  when  their  leaders  gave  the 
signal  for  plunder.  It  was  because  the  kings  of  France 
mistrusted  their  gentlemen,"  Mr.  Shandon  remarked, 
"  that  the  monarchy  of  Saint  Louis  went  down:  it  was 
because  the  people  of  England  still  believed  in  their 
gentlemen,  that  this  country  encountered  and  overcame 
the  greatest  enemy  a  nation  ever  met:  it  was  because 
we  were  headed  by  gentlemen  that  the  Eagles  retreated 
before  us  from  the  Douro  to  the  Garonne :  it  was  a  gen- 
tleman who  broke  the  line  at  Trafalgar,  and  swept  the 
plain  of  Waterloo." 

Bungay  nodded  his  head  in  a  knowing  manner,  and 
winked  his  eyes  when  the  Captain  came  to  the  Waterloo 
passage:  and  Warrington  burst  out  laughing. 

*  You  see  how  our  venerable  friend  Bungay  is  af- 
fected," Shandon  said,  slily  looking  up  from  his  papers 

"  that's  your  true  sort  of  test.  I  have  used  the  Duke 
of  Wellington  and  the  battle  of  Waterloo  a  hundred 
times:  and  I  never  knew  the  Duke  to  fail." 

The  Captain  then  went  on  to  confess,  with  much  can- 
dour, that  up  to  the  present  time  the  gentlemen  of  Eng- 
land, confident  of  their  right,  and  careless  of  those  who 
questioned  it,  had  left  the  political  interest  of  their  order 
as  they  did  the  management  of  their  estates,  or  the  set- 
tlement of  their  legal  affairs,  to  persons  affected  to 
each  peculiar  service,  and  had  permitted  their  interests 
to  be  represented  in  the  press  by  professional  proctors 
and  advocates.  That  time  Shandon  professed  to  con- 
sider was  now  gone  by:  the  gentlemen  of  England  must 


PENDENNIS  515 

be  their  own  champions:  the  declared  enemies  of  their 
order  were  brave,  strong,  numerous,  and  uncompromis- 
ing. They  must  meet  their  foes  in  the  field :  they  must 
not  be  belied  and  misrepresented  by  hireling  advocates: 
they  must  not  have  Grub  Street  publishing  Gazettes 
from  Whitehall;  "that's  a  dig  at  Bacon's  people,  Mr. 
Bungay,"  said  Shandon,  turning  round  to  the  publisher. 

Bungay  clapped  his  stick  on  the  floor.  "  Hang  him, 
pitch  into  him,  Capting,"  he  said  with  exultation:  and 
turning  to  Warrington,  wagged  his  dull  head  more  ve- 
hemently than  ever,  and  said,  "  For  a  slashing  article, 
sir,  there's  nobody  like  the  Capting — no-o-body  like 
him." 

The  prospectus-writer  went  on  to  say  that  some  gen- 
tlemen, whose  names  were,  for  obvious  reasons,  not 
brought  before  the  public  (at  which  Mr.  Warrington 
began  to  laugh  again) ,  had  determined  to  bring  forward 
a  journal,  of  which  the  principles  were  so  and  so.  "  These 
men  are  proud  of  their  order,  and  anxious  to  uphold  it," 
cried  out  Captain  Shandon,  flourishing  his  paper  with 
a  grin.  "  They  are  loyal  to  their  sovereign,  by  faithful 
conviction  and  ancestral  allegiance;  they  love  their 
Church,  where  they  would  have  their  children  worship, 
and  for  which  their  forefathers  bled;  they  love  their 
country,  and  would  keep  it  what  the  gentlemen  of  Eng- 
land— yes,  the  gentlemen  of  England  (we'll  have  that 
in  large  caps,  Bungay,  my  boy)  have  made  it — the  great- 
est and  freest  in  the  world:  and  as  the  names  of  some 
of  them  are  appended  to  the  deed  which  secured  our 
liberties  at  Runnymede— 

"  What's  that?  "  asked  Mr.  Bungay. 

"  An  ancestor  of  mine  sealed  it  with  his  sword  hilt," 
Pen  said,  with  great  gravity. 


516  PENDENNIS 

"  It's  the  Habeas  Corpus,  Mr.  Bungay,"  Warrington 
said,  on  which  the  publisher  answered,  "  All  right,  I  dare 
say,"  and  yawned,  though  he  said,  "  Go  on,  Capting." 

— "at  Runnymede;  they  are  ready  to  defend  that 
freedom  to-day  with  sword  and  pen,  and  now,  as  then, 
to  rally  round  the  old  laws  and  liberties  of  England." 

"  Brayvo!  "  cried  Warrington.  The  little  child  stood 
wondering;  the  lady  was  working  silently,  and  looking 
with  fond  admiration.  "  Come  here,  little  Mary,"  said 
Warrington,  and  patted  the  child's  fair  curls  with  his 
large  hand.  But  she  shrank  back  from  his  rough  caress, 
and  preferred  to  go  and  take  refuge  at  Pen's  knee,  and 
play  with  his  fine  watch-chain:  and  Pen  was  very  much 
pleased  that  she  came  to  him;  for  he  was  very  soft- 
hearted and  simple,  though  he  concealed  his  gentleness 
under  a  shy  and  pompous  demeanour.  So  she  clam- 
bered up  on  his  lap,  whilst  her  father  continued  to  read 
his  programme. 

'  You  were  laughing,"  the  Captain  said  to  Warring- 
ton,  "  about  *  the  obvious  reasons '  which  I  mentioned. 
Now,  I'll  show  ye  what  they  are,  ye  unbelieving  heathen. 
'  We  have  said/  "  he  went  on,  "  *  that  we  cannot  give  the 
names  of  the  parties  engaged  in  this  undertaking,  and 
that  there  were  obvious  reasons  for  that  concealment. 
We  number  influential  friends  in  both  Houses  of  the 
Senate,  and  have  secured  allies  in  every  diplomatic  circle 
in  Europe.  Our  sources  of  intelligence  are  such  as  can- 
not, by  any  possibility,  be  made  public— and,  indeed,  such 
as  no  other  London  or  European  journal  could,  by  any 
chance,  acquire.  But  this  we  are  free  to  say,  that  the 
very  earliest  information  connected  with  the  movement 
of  English  and  Continental  politics,  will  be  found  ONLY 
in  the  columns  of  the  "  Pall  Mall  Gazette."  The  States- 


PENDENNIS  517 

man  and  the  Capitalist,  the  Country  Gentleman,  and  the 
Divine,  will  be  amongst  our  readers,  because  our  writers 
are  amongst  them.  We  address  ourselves  to  the  higher 
circles  of  society:  we  care  not  to  disown  it — the  "  Pall 
Mall  Gazette  "  is  written  by  gentlemen  for  gentlemen; 
its  conductors  speak  to  the  classes  in  which  they  live  and 
were  born.  The  field-preacher  has  his  journal,  the  rad- 
ical free-thinker  has  his  journal:  why  should  the  Gentle- 
men of  England  be  unrepresented  in  the  Press? ' 

Mr.  Shandon  then  went  on  with  much  modesty  to 
descant  upon  the  literary  and  fashionable  departments 
of  the  "  Pall  Mall  Gazette,"  which  were  to  be  conducted 
by  gentlemen  of  acknowledged  reputation ;  men  famous 
at  the  Universities  (at  which  Mr.  Pendennis  could 
scarcely  help  laughing  and  blushing),  known  at  the 
Clubs  and  of  the  Society  which  they  described.  He 
pointed  out  delicately  to  advertisers  that  there  would  be 
no  such  medium  as  the  "  Pall  Mall  Gazette  "  for  giving 
publicity  to  their  sales;  and  he  eloquently  called  upon 
the  nobility  of  England,  the  baronetage  of  England,  the 
revered  clergy  of  England,  the  bar  of  England,  the  ma- 
trons, the  daughters,  the  homes  and  hearths  of  England, 
to  rally  round  the  good  old  cause;  and  Bungay  at  the 
conclusion  of  the  reading  woke  up  from  a  second  snooze 
in  which  he  had  indulged  himself,  and  again  said  it  was 
all  right. 

The  reading  of  the  prospectus  concluded,  the  gentle- 
men present  entered  into  some  details  regarding  the 
political  and  literary  management  of  the  paper,  and 
Mr.  Bungay  sate  by  listening  and  nodding  his  head,  as 
if  he  understood  what  was  the  subject  of  their  conversa- 
tion, and  approved  of  their  opinions.  Bungay 's  opin- 
ions, in  truth,  were  pretty  simple. .  He  thought  the  Cap- 


518 


PENDENNIS 


tain  could  write  the  best  smashing  article  in  England. 
He  wanted  the  opposition  house  of  Bacon  smashed,  and 
it  was  his  opinion  that  the  Captain  could  do  that  busi- 


ness.  If  the  Captain  had  written  a  letter  of  Junius  on 
a  sheet  of  paper,  or  copied  a  part  of  the  Church  Cate- 
chism, Mr.  Bungay  would  have  been  perfectly  contented, 
and  have  considered  that  the  article  was  a  smashing  arti- 
cle. And  he  pocketed  the  papers  with  the  greatest 
satisfaction:  and  he  not  only  paid  for  the  MS.,  as  we 


PENDENNIS  519 

have  seen,  but  he  called  little  Mary  to  him,  and  gave  her 
a  penny  as  he  went  away. 

The  reading  of  the  manuscript  over,  the  party  en- 
gaged in  general  conversation,  Shandon  leading  with 
a  jaunty  fashionable  air  in  compliment  to  the  two  guests 
who  sate  with  him,  and  who,  by  their  appearance  and 
manner,  he  presumed  to  be  persons  of  the  beau  monde. 
He  knew  very  little  indeed  of  the  great  world,  but  he 
had  seen  it,  and  made  the  most  of  what  he  had  seen.  He 
spoke  of  the  characters  of  the  day,  and  great  personages 
of  the  fashion,  with  easy  familiarity  find  jocular  allu- 
sions, as  if  it  was  his  habit  to  live  amongst  them.  He 
told  anecdotes  of  their  private  life,  and  of  conversations 
he  had  had,  and  entertainments  at  which  he  had  been 
present,  and  at  which  such  and  such  a  thing  occurred. 
Pen  was  amused  to  hear  the  shabby  prisoner  in  a  tat- 
tered dressing-gown  talking  glibly  about  the  great  of 
the  land.  Mrs.  Shandon  was  always  delighted  when 
her  husband  told  these  tales,  and  believed  in  them  fondly 
every  one.  She  did  not  want  to  mingle  in  the  fashionable 
world  herself,  she  was  not  clever  enough ;  but  the  great 
Society  was  the  very  place  for  her  Charles :  he  shone  in 
it:  he  was  respected  in  it.  Indeed,  Shandon  had  once 
been  asked  to  dinner  by  the  Earl  of  X;  his  wife  trea- 
sured the  invitation-card  in  her  work-box  at  that  very 
day. 

Mr.  Bungay  presently  had  enough  of  this  talk  and 
got  up  to  take  leave,  whereupon  Warrington  and  Pen 
rose  to  depart  with  the  publisher,  though  the  latter 
would  have  liked  to  stay  to  make  a  further  acquaintance 
with  this  family,  who  interested  him  and  touched  him. 
He  said  something  about  hoping  for  permission  to  re- 
peat his  visit,  upon  which  Shandon,  with  a  rueful  grin, 


520  PENDENNIS 

said  he  was  always  to  be  found  at  home,  and  should  be 
delighted  to  see  Mr.  Pennington. 

"I'll  see  you  to  my  park-gate,  gentlemen,"  said  Cap- 
tain Shandon,  seizing  his  hat,  in  spite  of  a  deprecatory 
look,  and  a  faint  cry  of  "  Charles  "  from  Mrs.  Shandon. 
And  the  Captain,  in  shabby  slippers,  shuffled  out  before 
his  guests,  leading  the  way  through  the  dismal  passages 
of  the  prison.  His  hand  was  already  fiddling  with  his 
waistcoat  pocket,  where  Bungay's  five-pound  note  was, 
as  he  took  leave  of  the  three  gentlemen  at  the  wicket; 
one  of  them,  Mr.  Arthur  Pendennis,  being  greatly  re- 
lieved when  he  was  out  of  the  horrid  place,  and  again 
freely  treading  the  flags  of  Farringdon-street. 

Mrs.  Shandon  sadly  went  on  with  her  work  at  the 
window  looking  into  the  court.  She  saw  Shandon  with 
a  couple  of  men  at  his  heels  run  rapidly  in  the  direction 
of  the  prison  tavern.  She  had  hoped  to  have  had  him  to 
dinner  herself  that  day:  there  was  a  piece  of  meat,  and 
some  salad  in  a  basin,  on  the  ledge  outside  of  the  win- 
dow of  their  room,  which  she  had  expected  that  she  and 
little  Mary  were  to  share  with  the  child's  father.  But 
there  was  no  chance  of  that  now.  He  would  be  in  that 
tavern  until  the  hours  for  closing  it ;  then  he  would  go 
and  play  at  cards  or  drink  in  some  other  man's  room, 
and  come  back  silent,  with  glazed  eyes,  reeling  a  little 
in  his  walk,  that  his  wife  might  nurse  him.  Oh,  what 
varieties  of  pain  do  we  not  make  our  women  suffer  1 

So  Mrs.  Shandon  went  to  the  cupboard,  and,  in  lieu 
of  a  dinner,  made  herself  some  tea.  And  in  those  vari- 
eties of  pain  of  which  we  spoke  anon,  what  a  part  of 
confidante  has  that  poor  tea-pot  played  ever  since  the 
kindly  plant  was  introduced  among  us!  What  myriads 
of  women  have  cried  over  it,  to  be  sure !  What  sick  beds 


PENDENNIS  521 

it  has  smoked  by!  What  fevered  lips  have  received  re- 
freshment from  out  of  it!  Nature  meant  very  gently 
by  women  when  she  made  that  tea-plant.  With  a  little 
thought  what  a  series  of  pictures  and  groups  the  fancy 
may  conjure  up  and  assemble  round  the  tea-pot  and 
cup.  Melissa  and  Saccharissa  are  talking  love  secrets 
over  it.  Poor  Polly  has  it  and  her  lover's  letters  upon 
the  table;  his  letters  who  was  her  lover  yesterday,  and 
when  it  was  with  pleasure,  not  despair,  she  wept  over 
them.  Mary  comes  tripping  noiselessly  into  her  mother's 
bed-room,  bearing  a  cup  of  the  consoler  to  the  widow 
who  will  take  no  other  food.  Ruth  is  busy  concocting 
it  for  her  husband,  who  is  coming  home  from  the  harvest 
field — one  could  fill  a  page  with  hints  for  such  pictures; 
—finally,  Mrs.  Shandon  and  little  Mary  sit  down  and 
drink  their  tea  together,  while  the  Captain  goes  out 
and  takes  his  pleasure.  She  cares  for  nothing  else  but 
that,  when  her  husband  is  away. 

A  gentleman  with  whom  we  are  already  slightly  ac- 
quainted, Mr.  Jack  Finucane,  a  townsman  of  Captain 
Shandon's,  found  the  Captain's  wife  and  little  Mary 
(for  whom  Jack  always  brought  a  sweetmeat  in  his 
pocket)  over  this  meal.  Jack  thought  Shandon  the 
greatest  of  created  geniuses,  had  had  one  or  two  helps 
from  the  good-natured  prodigal,  who  had  always  a  kind 
word,  and  sometimes  a  guinea  for  any  friend  in  need; 
and  never  missed  a  day  in  seeing  his  patron.  He  was 
ready  to  run  Shandon's  errands  and  transact  his  money- 
business  with  publishers  and  newspaper  editors,  duns, 
creditors,  holders  of  Shandon's  acceptances,  gentlemen 
disposed  to  speculate  in  those  securities,  and  to  transact 
the  thousand  little  affairs  of  an  embarrassed  Irish  gen- 
tleman. I  never  knew  an  embarrassed  Irish  gentleman 


522  PENDENNIS 

yet,  but  he  had  an  aide-de-camp  of  his  own  nation,  like- 
wise in  circumstances  of  pecuniary  discomfort.  That 
aide-de-camp  has  subordinates  of  his  own,  who  again 
may  have  other  insolvent  dependents — all  through  his 
life  our  Captain  marched  at  the  head  of  a  ragged  staff, 
who  shared  in  the  rough  fortunes  of  their  chieftain. 

"  He  won't  have  that  five-pound  note  very  long,  I  bet 
a  guinea,"  Mr.  Bungay  said  of  the  Captain,  as  he  and 
his  two  companions  walked  away  from  the  prison;  and 
the  publisher  judged  rightly,  for  when  Mrs.  Shandon 
came  to  empty  her  husband's  pockets,  she  found  but  a 
couple  of  shillings,  and  a  few  half -pence  out  of  the 
morning's  remittance.  Shandon  had  given  a  pound  to 
one  follower ;  had  sent  a  leg  of  mutton  and  potatoes  and 
beer  to  an  acquaintance  in  the  poor  side  of  the  prison; 
had  paid  an  outstanding  bill  at  the  tavern  where  he  had 
changed  his  five-pound  note;  had  had  a  dinner  with 
two  friends  there,  to  whom  he  lost  sundry  half-crowns 
at  cards  afterwards;  so  that  the  night  left  him  as  poor 
as  the  morning  had  found  him. 

The  publisher  and  the  two  gentlemen  had  had  some 
talk  together  after  quitting  Shandon,  and  Warring- 
ton  reiterated  to  Bungay  what  he  had  said  to  his  rival, 
Bacon,  viz.,  that  Pen  was  a  high  fellow,  of  great  genius, 
and  what  was  more,  well  with  the  great  world,  and  re- 
lated to  "  no  end  "  of  the  peerage.  Bungay  replied  that 
he  should  be  happy  to  have  dealings  with  Mr.  Penden- 
nis,  and  hoped  to  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  both  gents 
to  cut  mutton  with  him  before  long,  and  so,  with  mutual 
politeness  and  protestations,  they  parted. 

'  It  is  hard  to  see  such  a  man  as  Shandon,"  Pen  said, 
musing,  and  talking  that  night  over  the  sight  which  he 


PENDENNIS  523 

had  witnessed,  "  of  accomplishments  so  multifarious, 
and  of  such  an  undoubted  talent  and  humour,  an  inmate 
of  a  gaol  for  half  his  time,  and  a  bookseller's  hanger-on 
when  out  of  prison." 

"  I  am  a  bookseller's  hanger-on — you  are  going  to  try 
your  paces  as  a  hack,"  Warrington  said  with  a  laugh. 
"  We  are  all  hacks  upon  some  road  or  other.  I  would 
rather  be  myself,  than  Paley  our  neighbour  in  chambers : 
who  has  as  much  enjoyment  of  his  life  as  a  mole.  A 
deuced  deal  of  undeserved  compassion  has  been  thrown 
away  upon  what  you  call  your  bookseller's  drudge." 

"  Much  solitary  pipes  and  ale  make  a  cynic  of  you," 
Pen  said.  '  You  are  a  Diogenes  by  a  beer-barrel,  War- 
rington. No  man  shall  tell  me  that  a  man  of  genius,  as 
Shandon  is,  ought  to  be  driven  by  such  a  vulgar  slave- 
driver  as  yonder  Mr.  Bungay,  whom  we  have  just  left, 
who  fattens  on  the  profits  of  the  other's  brains,  and  en- 
riches himself  out  of  his  journeyman's  labour.  It  makes 
me  indignant  to  see  a  gentleman  the  serf  of  such  a  crea- 
ture as  that,  of  a  man  who  can't  speak  the  language  that 
he  lives  by,  who  is  not  fit  to  black  Shandon's  boots." 

"  So  you  have  begun  already  to  gird  at  the  publishers, 
and  to  take  your  side  amongst  our  order.  Bravo,  Pen, 
my  boy!  "  Warrington  answered,  laughing  still.  "  What 
have  you  got  to  say  against  Bungay's  relations  with 
Shandon?  Was  it  the  publisher,  think  you,  who  sent 
the  author  to  prison?  Is  it  Bungay  who  is  tippling  away 
the  five-pound  note  which  we  saw  just  now,  or  Shan- 
don?" 

;<  Misfortune  drives  a  man  into  bad  company,"  Pen 
said.  '  It  is  easy  to  cry  *  Fie ! '  against  a  poor  fellow  who 
has  no  society  but  such  as  he  finds  in  a  prison;  and  no 
resource  except  f orgetfulness  and  the  bottle.  We  must 


524  PENDENNIS 

deal  kindly  with  the  eccentricities  of  genius,  and  remem- 
ber that  the  very  ardour  and  enthusiasm  of  tempera- 
ment which  makes  the  author  delightful  often  leads  the 
man  astray ! " 

"A  fiddlestick  about  men  of  genius!"  Warrington 
cried  out,  who  was  a  very  severe  moralist  upon  some 
points,  though  possibly  a  very  bad  practitioner.  "  I 
deny  that  there  are  so  many  geniuses  as  people  who 
whimper  about  the  fate  of  men  of  letters  assert  there 
are.  There  are  thousands  of  clever  fellows  in  the  world 
who  could,  if  they  would,  turn  verses,  write  articles,  read 
books,  and  deliver  a  judgment  upon  them;  the  talk  of 
professional  critics  and  writers  is  not  a  whit  more  bril- 
liant, or  profound,  or  amusing,  than  that  of  any  other 
society  of  educated  people.  If  a  lawyer,  or  a  soldier,  or 
a  parson,  outruns  his  income,  and  does  not  pay  his  bills, 
he  must  go  to  gaol;  and  an  author  must  go,  too.  If 
an  author  fuddles  himself,  I  don't  know  why  he  should 
be  let  off  a  headache  the  next  morning, — if  he  orders 
a  coat  from  the  tailor's,  why  he  shouldn't  pay  for  it?  " 

"  I  would  give  him  more  money  to  buy  coats,"  said 
Pen,  smiling.  "  I  suppose  I  should  like  to  belong  to 
a  well-dressed  profession.  I  protest  against  that  wretch 
of  a  middle-man  whom  I  see  between  Genius  and  his 
great  landlord,  the  Public,  and  who  stops  more  than 
half  of  the  labourer's  earnings  and  fame." 

"I  am  a  prose  labourer,"  Warrington  said:  "you, 
my  boy,  are  a  poet  in  a  small  way,  and  so,  I  suppose, 
consider  you  are  authorised  to  be  flighty.  What  is  it 
you  want?  Do  you  want  a  body  of  capitalists  that  shall 
be  forced  to  purchase  the  works  of  all  authors,  who  may 
present  themselves,  manuscript  in  hand?  Everybody 
who  writes  his  epic,  every  driveller  who  can  or  can't 


PENDENNIS 

spell,  and  produces  his  novel  or  his  tragedy, — are  they 
all  to  come  and  find  a  bag  of  sovereigns  in  exchange 
for  their  worthless  reams  of  paper?  Who  is  to  settle 
what  is  good  or  bad,  salable  or  otherwise?  Will  you 
give  the  buyer  leave,  in  fine,  to  purchase  or  not?  Why, 
sir,  when  Johnson  sate  behind  the  screen  at  Saint  John's 
Gate,  and  took  his  dinner  apart,  because  he  was  too 
shabby  and  poor  to  join  the  literary  bigwigs  who  were 
regaling  themselves  round  Mr.  Cave's  best  table-cloth, 
the  tradesman  was  doing  him  no  wrong.  You  couldn't 
force  the  publisher  to  recognise  the  man  of  genius  in  the 
young  man  who  presented  himself  before  him,  ragged, 
gaunt,  and  hungry.  Rags  are  not  a  proof  of  genius; 
whereas  capital  is  absolute,  as  times  go,  and  is  perforce 
the  bargain-master.  It  has  a  right  to  deal  with  the  lit- 
erary inventor  as  with  any  other; — if  I  produce  a  novelty 
in  the  book  trade,  I  must  do  the  best  I  can  with  it ;  but 
I  can  no  more  force  Mr.  Murray  to  purchase  my  book 
of  travels  or  sermons,  than  I  can  compel  Mr.  Tattersall 
to  give  me  a  hundred  guineas  for  my  horse.  I  may  have 
my  own  ideas  of  the  value  of  my  Pegasus,  and  think  him 
the  most  wonderful  of  animals;  but  the  dealer  has  a 
right  to  his  opinion,  too,  and  may  want  a  lady's  horse, 
or  a  cob  for  a  heavy  timid  rider,  or  a  sound  hack  for  the 
road,  and  my  beast  won't  suit  him." 

1  You  deal  in  metaphors,  Warrington,"  Pen  said ; 
"  but  you  rightly  say  that  you  are  very  prosaic.  Poor 
Shandon!  There  is  something  about  the  kindness  of 
that  man,  and  the  gentleness  of  that  sweet  creature  of 
a  wife,  which  touches  me  profoundly.  I  like  him,  I  am 
afraid,  better  than  a  better  man." 

"  And  so  do  I,"  Warrington  said.  "  Let  us  give  him 
the  benefit  of  our  sympathy,  and  the  pity  that  is  due 


526  PENDENNIS 

to  his  weakness:  though  I  fear  that  sort  of  kindness 
would  be  resented  as  contempt  by  a  more  high-minded 
man.  You  see  he  takes  his  consolation  along  with  his 
misfortune,  and  one  generates  the  other  or  balances  it, 
as  is  the  way  of  the  world.  He  is  a  prisoner,  but  he  is 
not  unhappy." 

"  His  genius  sings  within  his  prison  bars,"  Pen  said. 

'  Yes,"  Warrington  said,  bitterly;  "  Shandon  accom- 
modates himself  to  a  cage  pretty  well.  He  ought  to  be 
wretched,  but  he  has  Jack  and  Tom  to  drink  with,  and 
that  consoles  him:  he  might  have  a  high  place,  but,  as 
he  can't,  why  he  can  drink  with  Tom  and  Jack; — he 
might  be  providing  for  his  wife  and  children,  but 
Thomas  and  John  have  got  a  bottle  of  brandy  which 
they  want  him  to  taste; — he  might  pay  poor  Snip,  the 
tailor,  the  twenty  pounds  which  the  poor  devil  wants  for 
his  landlord,  but  John  and  Thomas  lay  their  hands  upon 
his  purse;— and  so  he  drinks  whilst  his  tradesman  goes 
to  gaol  and  his  family  to  ruin.  Let  us  pity  the  misfor- 
tunes of  genius,  and  conspire  against  the  publishing 
tyrants  who  oppress  men  of  letters." 

'What!  are  you  going  to  have  another  glass  of 
brandy-and-water? "  Pen  said,  with  a  humorous  look. 
It  was  at  the  Back  Kitchen  that  the  above  philosophical 
conversation  took  place  between  the  two  young  men. 

Warrington  began  to  laugh  as  usual.  "  Video  meliora 
proboque—I  mean,  bring  it  me  hot,  with  sugar,  John," 
he  said  to  the  waiter. 

'  I  would  have  some  more,  too,  only  I  don't  want  it," 
said  Pen.  '  It  does  not  seem  to  me,  Warrington,  that 
we  are  much  better  than  our  neighbours."  And  War- 
rington's  last  glass  having  been  dispatched,  the  pair 
returned  to  their  chambers. 


PENDENNIS  527 

They  found  a  couple  of  notes  in  the  letter-box,  on 
their  return,  which  had  been  sent  by  their  acquaintance 
of  the  morning,  Mr.  Bungay.  That  hospitable  gentle- 
man presented  his  compliments  to  each  of  the  gentle- 
men, and  requested  the  pleasure  of  their  company  at 
dinner  on  an  early  day,  to  meet  a  few  literary  friends. 

'*  We  shall  have  a  grand  spread,"  said  Warrington. 
'  We  shall  meet  all  Bungay's  corps." 

"  All  except  poor  Shandon,"  said  Pen,  nodding  a 
good  night  to  his  friend,  and  he  went  into  his  own  little 
room.  The  events  and  acquaintances  of  the  day  had 
excited  him  a  good  deal,  and  he  lay  for  some  time  awake 
thinking  over  them,  as  Warrington's  vigorous  and  regu- 
lar snore  from  the  neighbouring  apartment  pronounced 
that  that  gentleman  was  engaged  in  deep  slumber. 

Is  it  true,  thought  Pendennis,  lying  on  his  bed  and 
gazing  at  a  bright  moon  without,  that  lighted  up  a 
corner  of  his  dressing-table,  and  the  frame  of  a  little 
sketch  of  Fairoaks  drawn  by  Laura,  that  hung  over  his 
drawers — is  it  true  that  I  am  going  to  earn  my  bread 
at  last,  and  with  my  pen?  that  I  shall  impoverish  the 
dear  mother  no  longer;  and  that  I  may  gain  a  name 
and  reputation  in  the  world,  perhaps?  These  are  wel- 
come if  they  come,  thought  the  young  visionary,  laugh- 
ing and  blushing  to  himself,  though  alone  and  in  the 
night,  as  he  thought  how  dearly  he  would  relish  honour 
and  fame  if  they  could  be  his.  If  fortune  favours  me, 
I  laud  her ;  if  she  frowns,  I  resign  her.  I  pray  Heaven 
I  may  be  honest  if  I  fail,  or  if  I  succeed.  I  pray  Heaven 
I  may  tell  the  truth  as  far  as  I  know  it :  that  I  mayn't 
swerve  from  it  through  flattery,  or  interest,  or  personal 
enmity,  or  party  prejudice.  Dearest  old  mother,  what 


528  PENDENNIS 

a  pride  will  you  have,  if  I  can  do  anything  worthy  of 
our  name!  and  you,  Laura,  you  won't  scorn  me  as  the 
worthless  idler  and  spendthrift,  when  you  see  that  I— 
when  I  have  achieved  a — psha!  what  an  Alnaschar  I 
am  because  I  have  made  five  pounds  by  my  poems,  and 
am  engaged  to  write  half  a  dozen  articles  for  a  news- 
paper. He  went  on  with  these  musings,  more  happy 
and  hopeful,  and  in  a  humbler  frame  of  mind,  than  he 
had  felt  to  be  for  many  a  day.  He  thought  over  the 
errors  and  idleness,  the  passions,  extravagances,  disap- 
pointments, of  his  wayward  youth :  he  got  up  from  the 
bed:  threw  open  the  window,  and  looked  out  into  the 
night:  and  then,  by  some  impulse,  which  we  hope  was 
a  good  one,  he  went  up  and  kissed  the  picture  of  Fair- 
oaks,  and  flinging  himself  down  on  his  knees  by  the  bed, 
remained  for  some  time  in  that  posture  of  hope  and 
submission.  When  he  rose,  it  was  with  streaming  eyes. 
He  had  found  himself  repeating,  mechanically,  some 
little  words  which  he  had  been  accustomed  to  repeat  as 
a  child  at  his  mother's  side,  after  the  saying  of  which 
she  would  softly  take  him  to  his  bed  and  close  the 
curtains  round  him,  hushing  him  with  a  benediction. 

The  next  day,  Mr.  Pidgeon,  their  attendant,  brought 
in  a  large  brown  paper  parcel,  directed  to  G.  Warring- 
ton,  Esq.,  with  Mr.  Trotter's  compliments,  and  a  note 
which  Warrington  read. 

"  Pen,  you  beggar!  "  roared  Warrington  to  Pen,  who 
was  in  his  own  room. 

"  Hullo!  "  sung  out  Pen. 

"  Come  here,  you're  wanted,"  cried  the  other,  and 
Pen  came  out.  '  What  is  it?  "  said  he. 

"  Catch!  "  cried  Warrington,  and  flung  the  parcel  at 


PENDENNIS  529 

Pen's  head,  who  would  have  been  knocked  down  had 
he  not  caught  it. 

"  It's  books  for  review  for  the  '  Pall  Mall  Gazette;' 
pitch  into  'em,"  Warrington  said.  As  for  Pen,  he  never 
had  been  so  delighted  in  his  life:  his  hand  trembled  as 
he  cut  the  string  of  the  packet,  and  beheld  within  a 
smart  set  of  new  neat  calico-bound  books,  travels,  and 
novels,  and  poems. 

"  Sport  the  oak,  Pidgeon,"  said  he.  "  I'm  not  at 
home  to  anybody  to-day."  And  he  flung  into  his  easy 
chair,  and  hardly  gave  himself  time  to  drink  his  tea,  so 
eager  was  he  to  begin  to  read  and  to  review. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

IN  WHICH  THE  HISTORY  STILL  HOVERS  ABOUT 
FLEET-STREET 

(ATTAIN  SHANDON,  urged  on  by  his 
wife,  who  seldom  meddled  in  busi- 
ness matters,  had  stipulated  that 
John  Finucane,  Esquire,  of  the  Up- 
per Temple,  should  be  appointed  sub- 
editor of  the  forthcoming  "  Pall 
Mall  Gazette,"  and  this  post  was  accordingly  conferred 
upon  Mr.  Finucane  by  the  spirited  proprietor  of  the 
Journal.  Indeed  he  deserved  any  kindness  at  the  hands 
of  Shandon,  so  fondly  attached  was  he,  as  we  have  said, 
to  the  Captain  and  his  family,  and  so  eager  to  do  him  a 
service.  It  was  in  Finucane's  chambers  that  Shandon 
used  in  former  days  to  hide  when  danger  was  near  and 
bailiffs  abroad:  until  at  length  his  hiding-place  was 
known,  and  the  sheriff's  officers  came  as  regularly  to 
wait  for  the  Captain  on  Finucane's  stair-case  as  at  his 
own  door.  It  was  to  Finucane's  chambers  that  poor  Mrs. 
Shandon  came  often  and  often  to  explain  her  troubles 
and  griefs,  and  devise  means  of  rescue  for  her  adored 
Captain.  Many  a  meal  did  Finucane  furnish  for  her 
and  the  child  there.  It  was  an  honour  to  his  little  rooms 
to  be  visited  by  such  a  lady;  and  as  she  went  down  the 
stair-case  with  her  veil  over  her  face,  Fin  would  lean 
over  the  balustrade  looking  after  her,  to  see  that  no 
Temple  Lovelace  assailed  her  upon  the  road,  perhaps 

530 


PENDENNIS  531 

hoping  that  some  rogue  might  be  induced  to  waylay 
her,  so  that  he,  Fin,  might  have  the  pleasure  of  rushing 
to  her  rescue,  and  breaking  the  rascal's  bones.  It  was  a 
sincere  pleasure  to  Mrs.  Shandon  when  the  arrange- 
ments were  made  by  which  her  kind  honest  champion 
was  appointed  her  husband's  aide-de-camp  in  the  news- 
paper. 

He  would  have  sate  with  Mrs.  Shandon  as  late  as  the 
prison  hours  permitted,  and  had  indeed  many  a  time 
witnessed  the  putting  to  bed  of  little  Mary,  who  occupied 
a  crib  in  the  room;  and  to  whose  evening  prayers  that 
God  might  bless  papa,  Finucane,  although  of  the  Ro- 
mish faith  himself,  had  said  Amen  with  a  great  deal  of 
sympathy— but  he  had  an  appointment  with  Mr.  Bun- 
gay  regarding  the  affairs  of  the  paper  which  they  were 
to  discuss  over  a  quiet  dinner.  So  he  went  away  at  six 
o'clock  from  Mrs.  Shandon,  but  made  his  accustomed 
appearance  at  the  Fleet  Prison  next  morning,  having 
arrayed  himself  in  his  best  clothes  and  ornaments,  which, 
though  cheap  as  to  cost,  were  very  brilliant  as  to  colour 
and  appearance,  and  having  in  his  pocket  four  pounds 
two  shillings,  being  the  amount  of  his  week's  salary  at 
the  "  Daily  Journal,"  minus  two  shillings  expended  by 
him  in  the  purchase  of  a  pair  of  gloves  on  his  way  to 
the  prison. 

He  had  cut  his  mutton  with  Mr.  Bungay,  as  the  latter 
gentleman  phrased  it,  and  Mr.  Trotter,  Bungay's  reader 
and  literary  man  of  business,  at  Dick's  CofFee-House  on 
the  previous  day,  and  entered  at  large  into  his  views 
respecting  the  conduct  of  the  "  Pall  Mall  Gazette."  In 
a  masterly  manner  he  had  pointed  out  what  should  be 
the  sub-editorial  arrangements  of  the  paper:  what 
should  be  the  type  for  the  various  articles:  who  should 


532  PENDENNIS 

report  the  markets;  who  the  turf  and  ring;  who  the 
Church  intelligence;  and  who  the  fashionable  chit-chat. 
He  was  acquainted  with  gentlemen  engaged  in  culti- 
vating these  various  departments  of  knowledge,  and 
in  communicating  them  afterwards  to  the  public — in 
fine,  Jack  Finucane  was,  as  Shandon  had  said  of  him, 
and,  as  he  proudly  owned  himself  to  be,  one  of  the  best 
sub-editors  of  a  paper  in  London.  He  knew  the  weekly 
earnings  of  every  man  connected  with  the  Press,  and 
was  up  to  a  thousand  dodges,  or  ingenious  economic  con- 
trivances, by  which  money  could  be  saved  to  spirited 
capitalists,  who  were  going  to  set  up  a  paper.  He  at 
once  dazzled  and  mystified  Mr.  Bungay,  who  was  slow 
of  comprehension,  by  the  rapidity  of  the  calculations 
which  he  exhibited  on  paper,  as  they  sate  in  the  box. 
And  Bungay  afterwards  owned  to  his  subordinate  Mr. 
Trotter,  that  that  Irishman  seemed  a  clever  fellow. 

And  now  having  succeeded  in  making  this  impression 
upon  Mr.  Bungay,  the  faithful  fellow  worked  round  to 
the  point  which  he  had  very  near  at  heart,  viz.,  the  lib- 
eration from  prison  of  his  admired  friend  and  chief, 
Captain  Shandon.  He  knew  to  a  shilling  the  amount 
of  the  detainers  which  were  against  the  Captain  at  the 
porter's  lodge  of  the  Fleet;  and,  indeed,  professed  to 
know  all  his  debts,  though  this  was  impossible,  for  no 
man  in  England,  certainly  not  the  Captain  himself,  was 
acquainted  with  them.  He  pointed  out  what  Shandon's 
engagements  already  were;  and  how  much  better  he 
would  work  if  removed  from  confinement  (though  this 
Mr.  Bungay  denied,  for,  "  when  the  Captain's  locked 
up,"  he  said,  "  we  are  sure  to  find  him  at  home;  whereas, 
when  he's  free,  you  can  never  catch  hold  of  him  ")  ; 
finally,  he  so  worked  on  Mr.  Bungay's  feelings,  by  de- 


PENDENNIS  533 

scribing  Mrs.  Shandon  pining  away  in  the  prison,  and 
the  child  sickening  there,  that  the  publisher  was  induced 
to  promise  that,  if  Mrs.  Shandon  would  come  to  him 
in  the  morning,  he  would  see  what  could  be  done.  And 
the  colloquy  ending  at  this  time  with  the  second  round 
of  brandy  and  water,  although  Finucane,  who  had  four 
guineas  in  his  pocket,  would  have  discharged  the  tavern 
reckoning  with  delight,  Bungay  said,  "  No,  sir,— this  is 
my  affair,  sir,  if  you  please.  James,  take  the  bill,  and 
eighteenpence  for  yourself,"  and  he  handed  over  the 
necessary  funds  to  the  waiter.  Thus  it  was  that  Finu- 
cane, who  went  to  bed  at  the  Temple  after  the  dinner 
at  Dick's,  found  himself  actually  with  his  week's  salary 
intact  upon  Saturday  morning. 

He  gave  Mrs.  Shandon  a  wink  so  knowing  and  joyful, 
that  that  kind  creature  knew  some  good  news  was  in 
store  for  her,  and  hastened  to  get  her  bonnet  and  shawl, 
when  Fin  asked  if  he  might  have  the  honour  of  taking 
her  a  walk,  and  giving  her  a  little  fresh  air.  And  little 
Mary  jumped  for  joy  at  the  idea  of  this  holiday,  for 
Finucane  never  neglected  to  give  her  a  toy,  or  to  take 
her  to  a  show,  and  brought  newspaper  orders  in  his 
pocket  for  all  sorts  of  London  diversions  to  amuse  the 
child.  Indeed,  he  loved  them  with  all  his  heart,  and 
would  cheerfully  have  dashed  out  his  rambling  brains  to 
do  them,  or  his  adored  Captain,  a  service. 

"  May  I  go,  Charley?  or  shall  I  stay  with  you,  for 
you're  poorly,  dear,  this  morning?  He's  got  a  headache, 
Mr.  Finucane.  He  suffers  from  headaches,  and  I  per- 
suaded him  to  stay  in  bed,"  Mrs.  Shandon  said. 

"  Go  along  with  you,  and  Polly.  Jack,  take  care  of 
'em.  Hand  me  over  the  Burton's  Anatomy,  and  leave 
me  to  my  abominable  devices,"  Shandon  said,  with  per- 


534 


PENDENNIS 


feet  good  humour.  He  was  writing,  and  not  uncom- 
monly took  his  Greek  and  Latin  quotations  (of  which 
he  knew  the  use  as  a  public  writer)  from  that  wonderful 
repertory  of  learning. 


So  Fin  gave  his  arm  to  Mrs.  Shandon,  and  Mary  went 
skipping  down  the  passages  of  the  prison,  and  through 
the  gate  into  the  free  air.  From  Fleet  Street  to  Pater- 
noster Row  is  not  very  far.  As  the  three  reached  Mr. 
Bungay's  shop,  Mrs.  Bungay  was  also  entering  at  the 


PENDENNIS  535 

private  door,  holding  in  her  hand  a  paper  parcel  and  a 
manuscript  volume  bound  in  red,  and,  indeed,  contain- 
ing an  account  of  her  transactions  with  the  butcher  in 
the  neighbouring  market.  Mrs.  Bungay  was  in  a  gor- 
geous shot  silk  dress,  which  flamed  with  red  and  purple ; 
she  wore  a  yellow  shawl,  and  had  red  flowers  inside  her 
bonnet,  and  a  brilliant  light  blue  parasol.  Mrs.  Shan- 
don  was  in  an  old  black  watered  silk;  her  bonnet  had 
never  seen  very  brilliant  days  of  prosperity  any  more 
than  its  owner,  but  she  could  not  help  looking  like  a 
lady  whatever  her  attire  was.  The  two  women  curtsied 
to  each  other,  each  according  to  her  fashion. 

"  I  hope  you're  pretty  well,  Mum? "  said  Mrs.  Bun- 
gay- 

"  It's  a  very  fine  day,"  said  Mrs.  Shandon. 

'  Won't  you  step  in,  Mum?  "  said  Mrs.  Bungay,  look- 
ing so  hard  at  the  child  as  almost  to  frighten  her. 

"I — I  came  about  business  with  Mr.  Bungay — I — I 
hope  he's  pretty  well?  "  said  timid  Mrs.  Shandon. 

"  If  you  go  to  see  him  in  the  counting-house,  couldn't 
you— couldn't  you  leave  your  little  gurl  with  me?  "  said 
Mrs.  Bungay,  in  a  deep  voice,  and  with  a  tragic  look, 
as  she  held  out  one  finger  towards  the  child. 

"  I  want  to  stay  with  mamma,"  cried  little  Mary, 
burying  her  face  in  her  mother's  dress. 

"  Go  with  this  lady,  Mary,  my  dear,"  said  the  mother. 

"  I'll  show  you  some  pretty  pictures,"  said  Mrs.  Bun- 
gay,  with  the  voice  of  an  ogress,  "  and  some  nice  things 
besides;  look  here" — and  opening  her  brown  paper 
parcel,  Mrs.  Bungay  displayed  some  choice  sweet  bis- 
cuits, such  as  her  Bungay  loved  after  his  wine.  Little. 
Mary  followed  after  this  attraction,  the  whole  party 
entering  at  the  private  entrance,  from  which  a  side  door 


536  PENDENNIS 

led  into  Mr.  Bungay's  commercial  apartments.  Here, 
however,  as  the  child  was  about  to  part  from  her  mother, 
her  courage  again  failed  her,  and  again  she  ran  to  the 
maternal  petticoat;  upon  which  the  kind  and  gentle 
Mrs.  Shandon,  seeing  the  look  of  disappointment  in 
Mrs.  Bungay's  face,  good-naturedly  said,  "  If  you  will 
let  me,  I  will  come  up  too,  and  sit  for  a  few  minutes," 
and  so  the  three  females  ascended  the  stairs  together. 
A  second  biscuit  charmed  little  Mary  into  perfect  con- 
fidence, and  in  a  minute  or  two  she  prattled  away  with- 
out the  least  restraint. 

Faithful  Finucane  meanwhile  found  Mr.  Bungay  in 
a  severer  mood  than  he  had  been  on  the  night  previous, 
when  two-thirds  of  a  bottle  of  port,  and  two  large  glasses 
of  brandy  and  water,  had  warmed  his  soul  into  enthu- 
siasm, and  made  him  generous  in  his  promises  towards 
Captain  Shandon.  His  impetuous  wife  had  rebuked 
him  on  his  return  home.  She  had  ordered  that  he 
should  give  no  relief  to  the  Captain ;  he  was  a  good-for- 
nothing  fellow,  whom  no  money  would  help;  she  dis- 
approved of  the  plan  of  the  "  Pall  Mall  Gazette,"  and 
expected  that  Bungay  would  only  lose  his  money  in  it 
as  they  were  losing  over  the  way  (she  always  called 
her  brother's  establishment  "over  the  way,")  by  the 
"  Whitehall  Journal."  Let  Shandon  stop  in  prison  and 
do  his  work ;  it  was  the  best  place  for  him.  In  vain  Fin- 
ucane pleaded  and  promised  and  implored,  for  his  friend 
Bungay  had  had  an  hour's  lecture  in  the  morning  and 
was  inexorable. 

But  what  honest  Jack  failed  to  do  below  stairs  in 
Jhe  counting-house,  the  pretty  faces  and  manners  of 
the  mother  and  child  were  effecting  in  the  drawing- 
room,  where  they  were  melting  the  fierce  but  really  soft 


Mrs.  Bungay  mollified 


PENDENXIS  537 

Mrs.  Bungay.  There  was  an  artless  sweetness  in  Mrs. 
Shandon's  voice,  and  a  winning  frankness  of  manner, 
which  made  most  people  fond  of  her,  and  pity  her :  and 
taking  courage  by  the  rugged  kindness  with  which  her 
hostess  received  her,  the  Captain's  lady  told  her  story, 
and  described  her  husband's  goodness  and  virtues,  and 
her  child's  failing  health  (she  was  obliged  to  part  with 
two  of  them,  she  said,  and  send  them  to  school,  for  she 
could  not  have  them  in  that  horrid  place)  — that  Mrs. 
Bungay,  though  as  grim  as  Lady  Macbeth,  melted  under 
the  influence  of  the  simple  tale,  and  said  she  would  go 
down  and  speak  to  Bungay.  Now  in  this  household  to 
speak  was  to  command,  with  Mrs.  Bungay;  and  with 
Bungay,  to  hear  was  to  obey. 

It  was  just  when  poor  Finucane  was  in  despair  about 
his  negotiation,  that  the  majestic  Mrs.  Bungay  de- 
scended upon  her  spouse,  politely  requested  Mr.  Finu- 
cane to  step  up  to  his  friends  in  her  drawing-room,  while 
she  held  a  few  minutes'  conversation  with  Mr.  B.,  and 
when  the  pair  were  alone  the  publisher's  better  half  in- 
formed him  of  her  intentions  towards  the  Captain's 
lady. 

'  What's  in  the  wind  now,  my  dear?  "  Maecenas  asked, 
surprised  at  his  wife's  altered  tone.  '  You  wouldn't 
hear  of  my  doing  anything  for  the  Captain  this  morn- 
ing: I  wonder  what  has  been  a  changing  of  you." 

*  The  Capting  is  an  Irishman,"  Mrs.  Bungay  replied ; 
"and  those  Irish  I  have  always  said  I  couldn't  abide.  But 
his  wife  is  a  lady,  as  any  one  can  see ;  and  a  good  woman, 
and  a  clergyman's  daughter,  and  a  West  of  England 
woman,  B.,  which  I  am  myself,  by  my  mother's  side — 
and,  O  Marmaduke,  didn't  you  remark  her  little  gurl?  " 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  B.,  I  saw  the  little  girl." 


538  PENDENNIS 

"  And  didn't  you  see  how  like  she  was  to  our  angel, 
Bessy,  Mr.  B.?"— and  Mrs.  Bungay's  thoughts  flew 
back  to  a  period  eighteen  years  back,  when  Bacon  and 
Bungay  had  just  set  up  in  business  as  small  booksellers 
in  a  country  town,  and  when  she  had  had  a  child,  named 
Bessy,  something  like  the  little  Mary  who  had  just  moved 
her  compassion. 

'  Well,  well,  my  dear,"  Mr.  Bungay  said,  seeing  the 
little  eyes  of  his  wife  begin  to  twinkle  and  grow  red; 
"  the  Captain  ain't  in  for  much.  There's  only  a  hundred 
and  thirty  pound  against  him.  Half  the  money  will 
take  him  out  of  the  Fleet,  Finucane  says,  and  we'll  pay 
him  half  salaries  till  he  has  made  the  account  square. 
When  the  little  'un  said,  *  Why  don't  you  take  Par  out 
of  piz'n? '  I  did  feel  it,  Flora,  upon  my  honour  I  did, 
now."  And  the  upshot  of  this  conversation  was,  that 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bungay  both  ascended  to  the  drawing- 
room,  and  Mr.  Bungay  made  a  heavy  and  clumsy  speech, 
in  which  he  announced  to  Mrs.  Shandon,  that,  hearing 
sixty-five  pounds  would  set  her  husband  free,  he  was 
ready  to  advance  that  sum  of  money,  deducting  it  from 
the  Captain's  salary,  and  that  he  would  give  it  to  her 
on  condition  that  she  would  personally  settle  with  the 
creditors  regarding  her  husband's  liberation. 

I  think  this  was  the  happiest  day  that  Mrs.  Shandon 
and  Mr.  Finucane  had  had  for  a  long  time.  "  Bedad, 
Bungay,  you're  a  trump ! "  roared  out  Fin,  in  an  over- 
powering brogue  and  emotion.  "  Give  us  your  fist,  old 
boy :  and  won't  we  send  the  '  Pall  Mall  Gazette  '  up  to 
ten  thousand  a-week,  that's  all! "  and  he  jumped  about 
the  room,  and  tossed  up  little  Mary,  with  a  hundred 
frantic  antics. 

"  If  I  could  drive  you  anywhere  in  my  carriage,  Mrs. 


PENDENNIS  539 

Shandon — I'm  sure  it's  quite  at  your  service,"  Mrs.  Bun- 
gay  said,  looking  out  at  a  one-horsed  vehicle  which  had 
just  driven  up,  and  in  which  this  lady  took  the  air  con- 
siderably— and  the  two  ladies,  with  little  Mary  between 
them  (whose  tiny  hand  Maecenas's  wife  kept  fixed  in  her 
great  grasp ) ,  with  the  delighted  Mr.  Finucane  on  the 
back  seat,  drove  away  from  Paternoster  Row,  as  the 
owner  of  the  vehicle  threw  triumphant  glances  at  the 
opposite  windows  at  Bacon's. 

"  It  won't  do  the  Captain  any  goody  thought  Bun- 
gay,  going  back  to  his  desk  and  accounts,  "  but  Mrs. 
B.  becomes  reg'lar  upset  when  she  thinks  about  her  mis- 
fortune. The  child  would  have  been  of  age  yesterday, 
if  she'd  lived.  Bessy  told  me  so :  "  and  he  wondered  how 
women  did  remember  things. 

We  are  happy  to  say  that  Mrs.  Shandon  sped  with 
very  good  success  upon  her  errand.  She  who  had  had  to 
mollify  creditors  when  she  had  no  money  at  all,  and  only 
tears  and  entreaties  wherewith  to  socrthe  them,  found  no 
difficulty  in  making  them  relent  by  means  of  a  bribe  of 
ten  shillings  in  the  pound ;  and  the  next  Sunday  was  the 
last,  for  some  time  at  least,  which  the  Captain  spent  in 
prison. 


CHAPTER    XXXIV 


A  DINNER  IN  THE  ROW 

PON  the  appointed  day  our 
two  friends  made  their  ap- 
pearance at  Mr.  Bungay's 
door  in  Paternoster  Row ;  not 
the  public  entrance  through 
which  booksellers'  boys  is- 
sued with  their  sacks  full 
of  Bungay's  volumes,  and 
around  which  timid  aspirants 
lingered  with  their  virgin 
manuscripts  ready  for  sale 

to  Sultan  Bungay,  but  at  the  private  door  of  the  house, 
whence  the  splendid  Mrs.  Bungay  would  come  forth  to 
step  into  her  chaise  and  take  her  drive,  settling  herself 
on  the  cushions,  and  casting  looks  of  defiance  at  Mrs. 
Bacon's  opposite  windows — at  Mrs.  Bacon,  who  was  as 
yet  a  chaiseless  woman. 

On  such  occasions,  when  very  much  wroth  at  her  sister- 
in-law's  splendour,  Mrs.  Bacon  would  fling  up  the  sash 
of  her  drawing-room  window,  and  look  out  with  her 
four  children  at  the  chaise,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Look 
at  these  four  darlings,  Flora  Bungay!  This  is  why  I 
can't  drive  in  my  carriage;  you  would  give  a  coach  and 
four  to  have  the  same  reason."  And  it  was  with  these 
arrows  out  of  her  quiver  that  Emma  Bacon  shot  Flora 
Bungay  as  she  sate  in  her  chariot  envious  and  childless. 

540 


PENDENNIS  541 

As  Pen  and  Warrington  came  to  Bungay's  door,  a 
carriage  and  a  cab  drove  up  to  Bacon's.  Old  Dr.  Slo- 
cum  descended  heavily  from  the  first;  the  Doctor's 
equipage  was  as  ponderous  as  his  style,  but  both  had  a 
fine  sonorous  effect  upon  the  publishers  in  the  Row.  A 
couple  of  dazzling  white  waistcoats  stepped  out  of  the 
cab. 

Warrington  laughed.  '  You  see  Bacon  has  his  dinner 
party  too.  That  is  Dr.  Slocum,  author  of  •'  Memoirs  of 
the  Poisoners.'  You  would  hardly  have  recognised  our 
friend  Hoolan  in  that  gallant  white  waistcoat.  Doolan 
is  one  of  Bungay's  men,  and,  faith,  here  he  comes.  In- 
deed Messrs.  Hoolan  and  Doolan  had  come  from  the 
Strand  in  the  same  cab,  tossing  up  by  the  way  which 
should  pay  the  shilling;  and  Mr.  D.  stepped  from  the 
other  side  of  the  way,  arrayed  in  black,  with  a  large  pair 
of  white  gloves  which  were  spread  out  on  his  hands, 
and  which  the  owner  could  not  help  regarding  with 
pleasure. 

The  house  porter  in  an  evening  coat,  and  gentlemen 
with  gloves  as  large  as  Doolan's,  but  of  the  famous 
Berlin  web,  were  on  the  passage  of  Mr.  Bungay's  house 
to  receive  the  guests'  hats  and  coats,  and  bawrl  their  names 
up  the  stair.  Some  of  the  latter  had  arrived  \vhen  the 
three  new  visitors  made  their  appearance ;  but  there  was 
only  Mrs.  Bungay,  in  red  satin  and  a  turban,  to  repre- 
sent her  own  charming  sex.  She  made  curtsies  to  each 
new  comer  as  he  entered  the  drawing-room,  but  her  mind 
was  evidently  pre-occupied  by  extraneous  thoughts.  The 
fact  is,  Mrs.  Bacon's  dinner  party  was  disturbing  her, 
and  as  soon  as  she  had  received  each  individual  of  her 
own  company,  Flora  Bungay  flew  back  to  the  embrasure 
of  the  window,  whence  she  could  rake  the  carriages  of 


542  PENDENNIS 

Emma  Bacon's  friends  as  they  came  rattling  up  the 
Row.  The  sight  of  Dr.  Slocum's  large  carriage,  with 
the  gaunt  job-horses,  crushed  Flora:  none  but  hack  cabs 
had  driven  up  to  her  own  door  on  that  day. 

They  were  all  literary  gentlemen,  though  unknown  as 
yet  to  Pen.  There  was  Mr.  Bole,  the  real  editor  of  the 
magazine  of  which  Mr.  Wagg  was  the  nominal  chief; 
Mr.  Trotter,  who,  from  having  broken  out  on  the  world 
as  a  poet  of  a  tragic  and  suicidal  cast,  had  now  subsided 
into  one  of  Mr.  Bungay's  back  shops  as  reader  for  that 
gentleman ;  and  Captain  Sumph,  an  ex-beau  still  about 
town,  and  related  in  some  indistinct  manner  to  Litera- 
ture and  the  Peerage.  He  was  said  to  have  written  a 
book  once,  to  have  been  a  friend  of  Lord  Byron,  to  be 
related  to  Lord  Sumphington;  in  fact,  anecdotes  of 
Byron  formed  his  staple,  and  he  seldom  spoke  but  with 
the  name  of  that  poet  or  some  of  his  contemporaries  in 
his  mouth,  as  thus:  "  I  remember  poor  Shelley  at  school 
being  sent  up  for  good  for  a  copy  of  verses,  every  line 
of  which  I  wrote,  by  Jove;"  or,  "  I  recollect,  when  I 
was  at  Missolonghi  with  Byron,  offering  to  bet  Gamba," 
and  so  forth.  This  gentleman,  Pen  remarked,  was  lis- 
tened to  with  great  attention  by  Mrs.  Bungay ;  his  anec- 
dotes of  the  aristocracy,  of  which  he  was  a  middle-aged 
member,  delighted  the  publisher's  lady;  and  he  was  al- 
most a  greater  man  than  the  great  Mr.  Wagg  himself 
in  her  eyes.  Had  he  but  come  in  his  own  carriage,  Mrs. 
Bungay  would  have  made  her  Bungay  purchase  any 
given  volume  from  his  pen. 

Mr.  Bungay  went  about  to  his  guests  as  they  arrived, 
and  did  the  honours  of  his  house  with  much  cordiality. 
"  How  are  you,  sir?  •  Fine  day,  sir.  Glad  to  see  you 
year,  sir.  Flora,  my  love,  let  me  'ave  the  honour  of  in- 


PENDENNIS  543 

troducing  Mr.  Warrington  to  you.  Mr.  Warrington, 
Mrs.  Bungay;  Mr.  Pendennis,  Mrs.  Bungay.  Hope 
you've  brought  good  appetites  with  you,  gentlemen. 
You,  Doolan,  I  know  'ave,  for  you've  always  'ad  a  deuce 
of  a  twist." 

"  Lor',  Bungay!  "  said  Mrs.  Bungay. 

"  Faith,  a  man  must  be  hard  to  please,  Bungay,  who 
can't  eat  a  good  dinner  in  this  house,"  Doolan  said,  and 
he  winked  and  stroked  his  lean  chops  with  his  large 
gloves ;  and  made  appeals  of  friendship  to  Mrs.  Bungay, 
which  that  honest  woman  refused  with  scorn  from  the 
timid  man.  "  She  couldn't  abide  that  Doolan,"  she  said 
in  confidence  to  her  friends.  Indeed,  all  his  flatteries 
failed  to  win  her. 

As  they  talked,  Mrs.  Bungay  surveying  mankind 
from  her  window,  a  magnificent  vision  of  an  enormous 
grey  cab-horse  appeared,  and  neared  rapidly.  A  pair 
of  white  reins,  held  by  small  white  gloves,  were  visible 
behind  it;  a  face  pale,  but  richly  decorated  with  a  chin- 
tuft,  the  head  of  an  exiguous  groom  bobbing  over  the 
cab-head— these  bright  things  were  revealed  to  the  de- 
lighted Mrs.  Bungay.  '  The  Honourable  Percy  Pop- 
joy's  quite  punctual,  I  declare,"  she  said,  and  sailed  to 
the  door  to  be  in  waiting  at  the  nobleman's  arrival. 

"  It's  Percy  Popjoy,"  said  Pen,  looking  out  of  win- 
dow, and  seeing  an  individual,  in  extremely  lacquered 
boots,  descend  from  the  swinging  cab:  and,  in  fact,  it 
was  that  young  nobleman — Lord  Falconet's  eldest  son, 
as  we  all  very  well  know,  who  was  come  to  dine  with  the 
publisher— his  publisher  of  the  Row. 

"  He  was  my  fag  at  Eton,"  Warrington  said.  "  I 
ought  to  have  licked  him  a  little  more."  He  and  Pen  had 
had  some  bouts  at  the  Oxbridge  Union  debates,  in  which 


544  PENDENNIS 

Pen  had  had  very  much  the  better  of  Percy :  who  pres- 
ently appeared,  with  his  hat  under  his  arm,  and  a  look 
of  indescribable  good  humour  and  fatuity  in  his  round 
dimpled  face,  upon  which  Nature  had  burst  out  with 
a  chin-tuft,  but,  exhausted  with  the  effort,  had  left  the 
rest  of  the  countenance  bare  of  hair. 

The  temporary  groom  of  the  chambers  bawled  out, 
"  The  Honourable  Percy  Popjoy,"  much  to  that  gentle- 
man's discomposure  at  hearing  his  titles  announced. 

'  What  did  the  man  want  to  take  away  my  hat  for, 
Bungay?  "  he  asked  of  the  publisher.  "  Can't  do  with- 
out my  hat— want  it  to  make  my  bow  to  Mrs.  Bungay. 
How  well  you  look,  Mrs.  Bungay,  to-day.  Haven't 
seen  your  carriage  in  the  Park:  why  haven't  you  been 
there?  I  missed  you;  indeed,  I  did." 

"  I'm  afraid  you're  a  sad  quiz,"  said  Mrs.  Bungay. 

"Quiz!  Never  made  a  joke  in  my— hullo!  who's 
here?  How  d'ye  do,  Pendennis?  How  d'ye  do,  War- 
rington?  These  are  old  friends  of  mine,  Mrs.  Bungay. 
I  say,  how  the  doose  did  you  come  here?  "  he  asked  of  the 
two  young  men,  turning  his  lacquered  heels  upon  Mrs. 
Bungay,  who  respected  her  husband's  two  young  guests, 
now  that  she  found  they  were  intimate  with  a  lord's  son. 

'What!  do  they  know  him?"  she  asked  rapidly  of 
Mr.  B. 

"  High  fellers,  I  tell  you — the  young  one  related  to 
all  the  nobility,"  said  the  publisher;  and  both  ran  for- 
ward, smiling  and  bowing,  to  greet  almost  as  great  per- 
sonages as  the  young  lord — no  less  characters,  indeed, 
than  the  great  Mr.  Wenham  and  the  great  Mr.  Wagg, 
who  were  now  announced. 

Mr.  Wenham  entered,  wearing  the  usual  demure  look 
and  stealthy  smile  with  which  he  commonly  surveyed  the 


PENDENNIS  545 

tips  of  his  neat  little  shining  boots,  and  which  he  but 
seldom  brought  to  bear  upon  the  person  who  addressed 
him.  Wagg's  white  waistcoat  spread  out,  on  the  con- 
trary, with  profuse  brilliancy;  his  burly,  red  face  shone 
resplendent  over  it,  lighted  up  with  the  thoughts  of  good 
jokes  and  a  good  dinner.  He  liked  to  make  his  entree 
into  a  drawing-room  with  a  laugh,  and,  when  he  went 
away  at  night,  to  leave  a  joke  exploding  behind  him. 
No  personal  calamities  or  distresses  (of  which  that  hu- 
mourist had  his  share  in  common  with  the  un jocular  part 
of  mankind)  could  altogether  keep  his  humour  down. 
Whatever  his  griefs  might  be,  the  thought  of  a  dinner 
rallied  his  great  soul ;  and  when  he  saw  a  lord,  he  saluted 
him  with  a  pun. 

Wenham  went  up,  then,  with  a  smug  smile  and  whis- 
per, to  Mrs.  Bungay,  and  looked  at  her  from  under  his 
eyes,  and  showed  her  the  tips  of  his  shoes.  Wagg  said 
she  looked  charming,  and  pushed  on  straight  at  the 
young  nobleman,  whom  he  called  Pop;  and  to  whom 
he  instantly  related  a  funny  story,  seasoned  with  what 
the  French  call  gros  sel.  He  was  delighted  to  see  Pen, 
too,  and  shook  hands  with  him,  and  slapped  him  on  the 
back  cordially;  for  he  was  full  of  spirits  and  good 
humour.  And  he  talked  in  a  loud  voice  about  their  last 
place  and  occasion  of  meeting  at  Baymouth ;  and  asked 
how  their  friends  of  Clavering  Park  were,  and  whether 
Sir  Francis  was  not  coming  to  London  for  the  season; 
and  whether  Pen  had  been  to  see  Lady  Rockminster,  who 
had  arrived— fine  old  lady,  Lady  Rockminster!  These 
remarks  Wagg  made  not  for  Pen's  ear  so  much  as  for 
the  edification  of  the  company,  whom  he  was  glad  to 
inform  that  he  paid  visits  to  gentlemen's  country  seats, 
and  was  on  intimate  terms  with  the  nobilitv. 


546  PENDENNIS 

Wenham  also  shook  hands  with  our  young  friend— 
all  of  which  scenes  Mrs.  Bungay  remarked  with  respect- 
ful pleasure,  and  communicated  her  ideas  to  Bungay, 
afterwards,  regarding  the  importance  of  Mr.  Pendennis 
—ideas  by  which  Pen  profited  much  more  than  he  was 
aware. 

Pen,  who  had  read,  and  rather  admired  some  of  her 
works  (and  expected  to  find  in  Miss  Bunion  a  person 
somewhat  resembling  her  own  description  of  herself  in 
the  "  Passion-Flowers,"  in  which  she  stated  that  her 
youth  resembled— 

"A  violet,  shrinking  meanly 
When  blows  the  March  wind  keenly; 
A  timid  fawn,  on  wild-wood  lawn, 
Where  oak -boughs  rustle  greenly, — 

and  that  her  maturer  beauty  was  something  very  differ- 
ent, certainly,  to  the  artless  loveliness  of  her  prime,  but 
still  exceedingly  captivating  and  striking),  beheld, 
rather  to  his  surprise  and  amusement,  a  large  and  bony 
woman  in  a  crumpled  satin  dress,  who  came  creaking 
into  the  room  with  a  step  as  heavy  as  a  grenadier's. 
Wagg  instantly  noted  the  straw  which  she  brought  in 
at  the  rumpled  skirt  of  her  dress,  and  would  have  stooped 
to  pick  it  up,  but  Miss  Bunion  disarmed  all  criticism  by 
observing  this  ornament  herself,  and,  putting  down  her 
own  large  foot  upon  it,  so  as  to  separate  it  from  her 
robe,  she  stooped  and  picked  up  the  straw,  saying  to 
Mrs.  Bungay,  that  she  was  very  sorry  to  be  a  little  late, 
but  that  the  omnibus  was  very  slow  and  what  a  comfort 
it  was  to  get  a  ride  all  the  way  from  Brompton  for  six- 
pence. Nobody  laughed  at  the  poetess's  speech,  it  was 
uttered  so  simply.  Indeed,  the  worthy  woman  had  not 


PENDENNIS  547 

the  least  notion  of  being  ashamed  of  an  action  incidental 
upon  her  poverty. 

"  Is  that '  Passion-Flowers? '  "  Pen  said  to  Wenham, 
by  whom  he  was  standing.  '  Why,  her  picture  in  the 
volume  represents  her  as  a  very  well-looking  young 
woman." 

'  You  know  passion-flowers,  like  all  others,  will  run 
to  seed,"  Wenham  said;  "Miss  Bunion's  portrait  was 
probably  painted  some  years  ago." 

'  Well,  I  like  her  for  not  being  ashamed  of  her  pov- 
erty." 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Mr.  Wenham,  who  would  have 
starved  rather  than  have  come  to  dinner  in  an  omnibus; 
"  but  I  don't  think  that  she  need  flourish  the  straw  about, 
do  you,  Mr.  Pendennis?  My  dear  Miss  Bunion,  how  do 
you  do?  I  was  in  a  great  lady's  drawing-room  this  morn- 
ing, and  everybody  was  charmed  with  your  new  volume. 
Those  lines  on  the  christening  of  Lady  Fanny  Fantail 
brought  tears  into  the  Duchess's  eyes.  I  said  that  I 
thought  I  should  have  the  pleasure  of  meeting  you  to- 
day, and  she  begged  me  to  thank  you,  and  say  how 
greatly  she  was  pleased." 

This  history,  told  in  a  bland,  smiling  manner,  of  a 
Duchess  whom  Wenham  had  met  that  very  morning, 
too,  quite  put  poor  Wagg's  dowager  and  baronet  out 
of  court,  and  placed  Wenham  beyond  Wagg  as  a  man 
of  fashion.  Wenham  kept  this  inestimable  advantage, 
and  having  the  conversation  to  himself,  ran  on  with  a 
number  of  anecdotes  regarding  the  aristocracy.  He 
tried  to  bring  Mr.  Popjoy  into  the  conversation  by  mak- 
ing appeals  to  him,  and  saying,  "  I  was  telling  your 
father  this  morning,"  or,  "  I  think  you  were  present  at 
W.  house  the  other  night  when  the  Duke  said  so  and  so," 


548  PENDENNIS 

but  Mr.  Popjoy  would  not  gratify  him  by  joining  in 
the  talk,  preferring  to  fall  back  into  the  window  recess 
with  Mrs.  Bungay,  and  watch  the  cabs  that  drove  up 
to  the  opposite  door.  At  least,  if  he  would  not  talk,  the 
hostess  hoped  that  those  odious  Bacons  would  see  how 
she  had  secured  the  noble  Percy  Popjoy  for  her  party. 

And  now  the  bell  of  Saint  Paul's  tolled  half  an  hour 
later  than  that  for  which  Mr.  Bungay  had  invited  his 
party,  and  it  was  complete  with  the  exception  of  two 
guests,  who  at  last  made  their  appearance,  and  in  whom 
Pen  was  pleased  to  recognise  Captain  and  Mrs.  Shan- 
don. 

When  these  two  had  made  their  greetings  to  the  mas- 
ter and  mistress  of  the  house,  and  exchanged  nods  of 
more  or  less  recognition  with  most  of  the  people  present, 
Pen  and  Warrington  went  up  and  shook  hands  very 
warmly  with  Mrs.  Shandon,  who,  perhaps,  was  affected 
to  meet  them,  and  think  where  it  was  she  had  seen  them 
but  a  few  days  before.  Shandon  was  brushed  up,  and 
looked  pretty  smart,  in  a  red  velvet  waistcoat,  and  a 
frill,  into  which  his  wife  had  stuck  her  best  brooch.  In 
spite  of  Mrs.  Bungay's  kindness,  perhaps  in  consequence 
of  it,  Mrs.  Shandon  felt  great  terror  and  timidity  in  ap- 
proaching her:  indeed,  she  was  more  awful  than  ever 
in  her  red  satin  and  bird  of  paradise,  and  it  was  not 
until  she  had  asked  in  her  great  voice  about  the  dear 
little  gurl,  that  the  latter  was  somewhat  encouraged, 
and  ventured  to  speak. 

"  Nice-looking  woman,"  Popjoy  whispered  to  War- 
rington. "  Do  introduce  me  to  Captain  Shandon,  War- 
rington. I'm  told  he's  a  tremendous  clever  fellow;  and, 
dammy,  I  adore  intellect,  by  Jove  I  do!  "  This  was  the 
truth:  Heaven  had  not  endowed  young  Mr.  Popjoy 


PENDENNIS  549 

with  much  intellect  of  his  own,  but  had  given  him  a  gen- 
erous faculty  for  admiring,  if  not  for  appreciating,  the 
intellect  of  others.  "  And  introduce  me  to  Miss  Bunion. 
I'm  told  she's  very  clever  too.  She's  rum  to  look  at, 
certainly,  but  that  don't  matter.  Dammy,  I  consider 
myself  a  literary  man,  and  I  wish  to  know  all  the  clever 
fellows."  So  Mr.  Popjoy  and  Mr.  Shandon  had  the 
pleasure  of  becoming  acquainted  with  one  another;  and 
now  the  doors  of  the  adjoining  dining-room  being  flung 
open,  the  party  entered  and  took  their  seats  at  table. 
Pen  found  himself  next  to  Miss  Bunion  on  one  side, 
and  to  Mr.  Wagg — the  truth  is,  Wagg  fled  alarmed 
from  the  vacant  place  by  the  poetess,  and  Pen  was  com- 
pelled to  take  it. 

The  gifted  being  did  not  talk  much  during  dinner,  but 
Pen  remarked  that  she  ate,  with  a  vast  appetite,  and 
never  refused  any  of  the  supplies  of  wine  which  were 
offered  to  her  by  the  butler.  Indeed,  Miss  Bunion  hav- 
ing considered  Mr.  Pendennis  for  a  minute,  who  gave 
himself  rather  grand  airs,  and  who  was  attired  in  an 
extremely  fashionable  style,  with  his  very  best  chains, 
shirt  studs,  and  cambric  fronts,  he  was  set  down,  and 
not  without  reason,  as  a  prig  by  the  poetess;  who 
thought  it  was  much  better  to  attend  to  her  dinner  than 
to  take  any  notice  of  him.  She  told  him  as  much  in  after 
days  with  her  usual  candour.  "  I  took  you  for  one  of 
the  little  Mayfair  dandies,"  she  said  to  Pen.  '  You 
looked  as  solemn  as  a  little  undertaker;  and  as  I  dis- 
liked, beyond  measure,  the  odious  creature  who  was  on 
the  other  side  of  me,  I  thought  it  was  best  to  eat  my 
dinner  and  hold  my  tongue." 

"  And  you  did  both  very  well,  my  dear  Miss  Bunion," 
Pen  said  with  a  laugh. 


550  PENDENNIS 

"  Well,  so  I  do,  but  I  intend  to  talk  to  you  the  next 
time  a  great  deal:  for  you  are  neither  so  solemn,  nor 
so  stupid,  nor  so  pert  as  you  look." 

"  Ah,  Miss  Bunion,  how  I  pine  for  that  '  next  time ' 
to  come,"  Pen  said,  with  an  air  of  comical  gallantry:— 
But  we  must  return  to  the  day,  and  the  dinner  at  Pater- 
noster Row. 

The  repast  was  of  the  richest  description—  '  What  I 
call  of  the  florid  Gothic  style,"  Wagg  whispered  to  Pen, 
who  sate  beside  the  humourist,  in  his  side-wing  voice. 
The  men  in  creaking  shoes  and  Berlin  gloves  were  nu- 
merous and  solemn,  carrying  on  rapid  conversations  be- 
hind the  guests,  as  they  moved  to  and  fro  with  the  dishes. 
Doolan  called  out,  "  Waither,"  to  one  of  them,  and 
blushed  when  he  thought  of  his  blunder.  Mrs.  Bungay's 
own  footboy  was  lost  amidst  those  large  and  black- 
coated  attendants. 

"  Look  at  that  very  bow-windowed  man,"  Wagg  said. 
"  He's  an  undertaker  in  Amen  Corner,  and  attends  fu- 
nerals and  dinners.  Cold  meat  and  hot,  don't  you  per- 
ceive? He's  the  sham  butler  here,  and  I  observe,  my 
dear  Mr.  Pendennis,  as  you  will  through  life,  that  wher- 
ever there  is  a  sham  butler  at  a  London  dinner  there  is 
sham  wine— this  sherry  is  filthy.  Bungay,  my  boy, 
where  did  you  get  this  delicious  brown  sherry? " 

'  I'm  glad  you  like  it,  Mr.  Wagg;  glass  with  you," 
said  the  publisher.  :<  It's  some  I  got  from  Alderman 
Benning's  store,  and  gave  a  good  figure  for  it,  I  can 
tell  you.  Mr.  Pendennis,  will  you  join  us?  Your  'ealth, 
gentlemen." 

'  The  old  rogue,  where  does  he  expect  to  go  to?  It 
came  from  the  public-house,"  Wagg  said.  '  It  requires 
two  men  to  carry  off  that  sherry,  'tis  so  uncommonly 


PENDENNIS  551 

strong.  I  wish  I  had  a  bottle  of  old  Steyne's  wine  here, 
Pendennis :  your  uncle  and  I  have  had  many  a  one.  He 
sends  it  about  to  people  where  he  is  in  the  habit  of  din- 
ing. I  remember  at  poor  Rawdon  Crawley's,  Sir  Pitt 
Crawley's  brother— he  was  Governor  of  Coventry  Isl- 
and—  Steyne's  chef  always  came  in  the  morning,  and 
the  butler  arrived  with  the  champagne  from  Gaunt 
House,  in  the  ice-pails  ready." 

"Plow  good  this  is!"  said  Popjoy,  good-naturedly. 
'  You  must  have  a  cordon  bleu  in  your  kitchen." 

"  O  yes,"  Mrs.  Bungay  said,  thinking  he  spoke  of  a 
jack-chain  very  likely. 

"  I  mean  a  French  chef,"  said  the  polite  guest. 

"  O  yes,  your  lordship,"  again  said  the  lady. 

"  Does  your  artist  say  he's  a  Frenchman,  Mrs.  B.? " 
called  out  Wagg. 

'  Well,  I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  answered  the  pub- 
lisher's lady. 

"  Because,  if  he  does,  he's  a  quizzin'  yer"  cried  Mr. 
Wagg;  but  nobody  saw  the  pun,  which  disconcerted 
somewhat  the  bashful  punster.  *  The  dinner  is  from 
Griggs'  in  St.  Paul's  Churchyard;  so  is  Bacon's,"  he 
whispered  Pen.  "  Bungay  writes  to  give  half-a-crown 
a  head  more  than  Bacon, — so  does  Bacon.  They  would 
poison  each  other's  ices  if  they  could  get  near  them; 
and  as  for  the  made-dishes — they  are  poison.  This — 
hum — ha— this  Brimborion  a  la  Sevigne  is  delicious, 
Mrs.  B.,"  he  said,  helping  himself  to  a  dish  which  the 
undertaker  handed  to  him. 

'  Well,  I'm  glad  you  like  it,"  Mrs.  Bungay  answered, 
blushing,  and  not  knowing  whether  the  name  of  the  dish 
was  actually  that  which  Wagg  gave  to  it,  but  dimly 
conscious  that  that  individual  was  quizzing  her.  Ac- 


552  PENDENNIS 

cordingly  she  hated  Mr.  Wagg  with  female  ardour; 
and  would  have  deposed  him  from  his  command  over 
Mr.  Bungay's  periodical,  but  that  his  name  was  great 
in  the  trade,  and  his  reputation  in  the  land  considerable. 

By  the  displacement  of  persons,  Warrington  had 
found  himself  on  the  right  hand  of  Mrs.  Shandon,  who 
sate  in  plain  black  silk  and  faded  ornaments  by  the  side 
of  the  florid  publisher.  The  sad  smile  of  the  lady  moved 
his  rough  heart  to  pity.  Nobody  seemed  to  interest  him- 
self about  her:  she  sate  looking  at  her  husband,  who 
himself  seemed  rather  abashed  in  the  presence  of  some 
of  the  company.  Wenham  and  Wagg  both  knew  him 
and  his  circumstances.  He  had  worked  with  the  latter, 
and  was  immeasurably  his  superior  in  wit,  genius,  and 
acquirements;  but  Wagg's  star  was  brilliant  in  the 
world,  and  poor  Shandon  was  unknown  there.  He  could 
not  speak  before  the  noisy  talk  of  the  coarser  and  more 
successful  man;  but  drank  his  wine  in  silence,  and  as 
much  of  it  as  the  people  would  give  him.  He  was  under 
surveillance.  Bungay  had  warned  the  undertaker  not 
to  fill  the  Captain's  glass  too  often  or  too  full.  It  was 
a  melancholy  precaution  that,  and  the  more  melancholy 
that  it  was  necessary.  Mrs.  Shandon,  too,  cast  alarmed 
glances  across  the  table  to  see  that  her  husband  did  not 
exceed. 

Abashed  by  the  failure  of  his  first  pun,  for  he  was 
impudent  and  easily  disconcerted,  Wagg  kept  his  con- 
versation pretty  much  to  Pen  during  the  rest  of  dinner, 
and  of  course  chiefly  spoke  about  their  neighbours. 
'  This  is  one  of  Bungay's  grand  field-days,"  he  said. 
'  We  are  all  Bungavians  here.— Did  you  read  Pop  joy's 
novel?  It  was  an  old  magazine  story  written  by  poor 
Buzzard  years  ago,  and  forgotten  here  until  Mr.  Trot- 


PENDENNIS  553 

ter  (that  is  Trotter  with  the  large  shirt  collar)  fished  it 
out  and  bethought  him  that  it  was  applicable  to  the  late 
elopement;  so  Bob  wrote  a  few  chapters  a  propos— 
Popjoy  permitted  the  use  of  his  name,  and  I  dare  say 
supplied  a  page  here  and  there — and  '  Desperation,  or 
the  Fugitive  Duchess'  made  its  appearance.  The  great 
fun  is  to  examine  Popjoy  about  his  own  work,  of  which 
he  doesn't  know  a  word. — I  say,  Popjoy,  what  a  capital 
passage  that  is  in  Volume  Three,— where  the  Cardinal 
in  disguise,  after  being  converted  by  the  Bishop  of  Lon- 
don, proposes  marriage  to  the  Duchess's  daughter." 

"Glad  you  like  it,"  Popjoy  answered;  "it's  a  fa- 
vourite bit  of  my  own." 

'  There's  no  such  thing  in  the  whole  book,"  whispered 
Wagg  to  Pen.  "  Invented  it  myself .  Gad!  it  wouldn't 
be  a  bad  plot  for  a  high-church  novel." 

"  I  remember  poor  Byron,  Hobhouse,  Trelawney,  and 
myself,  dining  with  Cardinal  Mezzocaldo,  at  Rome," 
Captain  Sumph  began,  "  and  we  had  some  Orvieto  wine 
for  dinner,  which  Byron  liked  very  much.  And  I  re- 
member how  the  Cardinal  regretted  that  he  was  a  single 
man.  We  went  to  Civita  Vecchia  two  days  afterwards, 
where  Byron's  yacht  was — and,  by  Jove,  the  Cardinal 
died  within  three  weeks ;  and  Byron  was  very  sorry,  for 
he  rather  liked  him." 

"  A  devilish  interesting  story,  Sumph,  indeed,"  Wagg 
said. 

*  You  should  publish  some  of  those  stories,  Captain 
Sumph,  you  really  should.  Such  a  volume  would  make 
our  friend  Bungay's  fortune,"  Shandon  said. 

'  Why  don't  you  ask  Sumph  to  publish  'em  in  your 
new  paper— the  what-d'ye-caU'em— hay,  Shandon?" 
bawled  out  Wagg. 


554  PENDENNIS 

"  Why  don't  you  ask  him  to  publish  'em  in  your  old 
magazine,  the  Thingumbob?  "  Shandon  replied. 

"  Is  there  going  to  be  a  new  paper?  "  asked  Wenham, 
who  knew  perfectly  well ;  but  was  ashamed  of  his  con- 
nection with  the  press. 

"  Bungay  going  to  bring  out  a  paper?  "  cried  Popjoy, 
who,  on  the  contrary,  was  proud  of  his  literary  reputa- 
tion and  acquaintances.  *  You  must  employ  me.  Mrs. 
Bungay,  use  your  influence  with  him,  and  make  him 
employ  me.  Prose  or  verse — what  shall  it  be?  Novels, 
poems,  travels,  or  leading  articles,  begad.  Anything 
or  everything— only  let  Bungay  pay  me,  and  I'm  ready 
-I  am  now,  my  dear  Mrs.  Bungay,  begad,  now." 

"  It's  to  be  called  the  '  Small  Beer  Chronicle,' " 
growled  Wagg,  "  and  little  Popjoy  is  to  be  engaged  for 
the  infantine  department." 

"  It  is  to  be  called  the  *  Pall  Mall  Gazette,'  sir,  and 
we  shall  be  very  happy  to  have  you  with  us,"  Shandon 
said. 

"  '  Pall  Mall  Gazette  '-why  '  Pall  Mall  Gazette? ' 
asked  Wagg. 

"  Because  the  editor  was  born  at  Dublin,  the  sub- 
editor at  Cork,  because  the  proprietor  lives  in  Paternos- 
ter Row,  and  the  paper  is  published  in  Catherine  Street, 
Strand.  Won't  that  reason  suffice  you,  Wagg?  "  Shan- 
don said ;  he  was  getting  rather  angry.  "  Everything 
must  have  a  name.  My  dog  Ponto  has  got  a  name. 
You've  got  a  name,  and  a  name  which  you  deserve,  more 
or  less,  bedad.  Why  d'ye  grudge  the  name  to  our 
paper? " 

"  By  any  other  name  it  would  smell  as  sweet,"  said 
Wagg. 

"  I'll  have  ye  remember  it's  name's  not  whatdyecallem, 


PENDENNIS  555 

Mr.  Wagg,"  said  Shandon.  "  You  know  its  name  well 
enough,  and— and  you  know  mine." 

"  And  I  know  your  address,  too,"  said  Wagg,  but 
this  was  spoken  in  an  undertone,  and  the  good-natured 
Irishman  was  appeased  almost  in  an  instant  after  his 
ebullition  of  spleen,  and  asked  Wagg  to  drink  wine  with 
him  in  a  friendly  voice. 

When  the  ladies  retired  from  the  table,  the  talk  grew 
louder  still ;  and  presently  Wenham,  in  a  courtly  speech, 
proposed  that  everybody  should  drink  to  the  health  of 
the  new  Journal,  eulogising  highly  the  talents,  wit,  and 
learning,  of  its  editor,  Captain  Shandon.  It  was  his 
maxim  never  to  lose  the  support  of  a  newspaper  man, 
and  in  the  course  of  that  evening,  he  went  round  and 
saluted  every  literary  gentleman  present  with  a  privy 
compliment  specially  addressed  to  him;  informing  this 
one  how  great  an  impression  had  been  made  in  Downing 
Street  by  his  last  article,  and  telling  that  one  how  pro- 
foundly his  good  friend,  the  Duke  of  So  and  So,  had 
been  struck  by  the  ability  of  the  late  numbers. 

The  evening  came  to  a  close,  and  in  spite  of  all  the 
precautions  to  the  contrary,  poor  Shandon  reeled  in  his 
walk,  and  went  home  to  his  new  lodgings,  with  his  faith- 
ful wife  by  his  side,  and  the  cabman  on  his  box  jeering 
at  him.  Wenham  had  a  chariot  of  his  own,  which  he 
put  at  Pop  joy's  service;  and  the  timid  Miss  Bunion 
seeing  Mr.  Wagg,  who  was  her  neighbour,  about  to  de- 
part, insisted  upon  a  seat  in  his  carriage,  much  to  that 
gentleman's  discomfiture. 

Pen  and  Warrington  walked  home  together  in  the 
moonlight.  "  And  now,"  Warrington  said,  "  that  you 
have  seen  the  men  of  letters,  tell  me,  was  I  far  wrong 
in  saying  that  there  are  thousands -of  people  in  this  town, 


556  PENDENNIS 

who  don't  write  books,  who  are,  to  the  full,  as  clever 
and  intellectual  as  people  who  do? " 

Pen  was  forced  to  confess  that  the  literary  personages 
with  whom  he  had  become  acquainted  had  not  said  much, 
in  the  course  of  the  night's  conversation,  that  was  worthy 
to  be  remembered  or  quoted.  In  fact,  not  one  word 
about  literature  had  been  said  during  the  whole  course 
of  the  night: — and  it  may  be  whispered  to  those  unini- 
tiated people  who  are  anxious  to  know  the  habits  and 
make  the  acquaintance  of  men  of  letters,  that  there  are 
no  race  of  people  who  talk  about  books,  or,  perhaps,  who 
read  books,  so  little  as  literary  men. 


THE       PALL  MALL  GAZETTE 

ONSIDERABLE 

success  at  first  at- 
tended the  new 
journal.  It  was 
generally  stated, 
that  an  influen- 
.tial  political  par- 
ty supported  the 
paper;  and  great 
names  were  cited  amongst  the  contributors  to  its 
columns.  Was  there  any  foundation  for  these  rumours  ? 
We  are  not  at  liberty  to  say  whether  they  were 
well  or  ill-founded;  but  this  much  we  may  divulge, 
that  an  article  upon  foreign  policy,  which  was  gen- 
erally attributed  to  a  noble  Lord,  whose  connexion 
with  the  Foreign  Office  is  very  well  known,  was  in  re- 
ality composed  by  Captain  Shandon,  in  the  parlour  of 
the  Bear  and  Staff  public-house  near  Whitehall  Stairs, 
whither  the  printer's  boy  had  tracked  him,  and  where  a 
literary  ally  of  his,  Mr.  Bludyer,  had  a  temporary  resi- 
dence; and  that  a  series  of  papers  on  finance  questions, 
which  were  universally  supposed  to  be  written  by  a 
great  Statesman  of  the  House  of  Commons,  were  in 
reality  composed  by  Mr.  George  Warrington  of  the 
Upper  Temple. 

That  there  may  have  been  some  dealings  between  the 
"  Pall  Mall  Gazette  "  and  this  influential  party,  is  very 

557 


558 


PENDENNIS 


possible.    Percy  Popjoy  (whose  father,  Lord  Falconet, 
was  a  member  of  the  party)  might  be  seen  not  unfre- 


quently  ascending  the  stairs  to  Warrington's  chambers; 
and  some  information  appeared  in  the  paper  which  gave 
it  a  character,  and  could  only  be  got  from  very  peculiar 
sources.  Several  poems,  feeble  in  thought,  but  loud  and 


PENDENNIS  559 

vigorous  in  expression,  appeared  in  the  "  Pall  Mall  Ga- 
zette," with  the  signature  of  "  P.P."  ;  and  it  must  be 
owned  that  his  novel  was  praised  in  the  new  journal  in 
a  very  outrageous  manner. 

In  the  political  department  of  the  paper  Mr.  Pen  did 
not  take  any  share;  but  he  was  a  most  active  literary 
contributor.  The  "  Pall  Mall  Gazette  "  had  its  offices, 
as  we  have  heard,  in  Catherine  Street,  in  the  Strand, 
and  hither  Pen  often  came  with  his  manuscripts  in  his 
pocket,  and  with  a  great  deal  of  bustle  and  pleasure; 
such  as  a  man  feels  at  the  outset  of  his  literary  career, 
when  to  see  himself  in  print  is  still  a  novel  sensation, 
and  he  yet  pleases  himself  to  think  that  his  writings  are 
creating  some  noise  in  the  world. 

Here  it  was  that  Mr.  Jack  Finucane,  the  sub-editor, 
compiled  with  paste  and  scissors  the  journal  of  which 
he  was  supervisor.  With  an  eagle  eye  he  scanned  all 
the  paragraphs  of  all  the  newspapers  which  had  any- 
thing to  do  with  the  world  of  fashion  over  which  he  pre- 
sided. He  didn't  let  a  death  or  a  dinner-party  of  the 
aristocracy  pass  without  having  the  event  recorded  in 
the  columns  of  his  journal;  and  from  the  most  recondite 
provincial  prints,  and  distant  Scotch  and  Irish  news- 
papers, he  fished  out  astonishing  paragraphs  and  intelli- 
gence regarding  the  upper  classes  of  society.  It  was  a 
grand,  nay,  a  touching  sight,  for  a  philosopher,  to  see 
Jack  Finucane,  Esquire,  with  a  plate  of  meat  from  the 
cookshop,  and  a  glass  of  porter  from  the  public-house, 
for  his  meal,  recounting  the  feasts  of  the  great,  as  if  he 
had  been  present  at  them;  and  in  tattered  trowsers  and 
dingy  shirt  sleeves,  cheerfully  describing  and  arranging 
the  most  brilliant  fetes  of  the  world  of  fashion.  The 
incongruity  of  Finucane's  avocation,  and  his  manners 


560  PENDENNIS 

and  appearance,  amused  his  new  friend  Pen.  Since  he 
left  his  own  native  village,  where  his  rank  probably  was 
not  very  lofty,  Jack  had  seldom  seen  any  society  but 
such  as  used  the  parlour  of  the  taverns  which  he  fre- 
quented, whereas  from  his  writing  you  would  have  sup- 
posed that  he  dined  with  ambassadors,  and  that  his  com- 
mon lounge  was  the  bow-window  of  White's.  Errors 
of  description,  it  is  true,  occasionally  slipped  from  his 
pen;  but  the  "  Ballinafad  Sentinel,"  of  which  he  was 
own  correspondent,  suffered  by  these,  not  the  "  Pall 
Mall  Gazette,"  in  which  Jack  was  not  permitted  to 
write  much,  his  London  chiefs  thinking  that  the  scissors 
and  the  paste  were  better  wielded  by  him  than  the  pen. 

Pen  took  a  great  deal  of  pains  with  the  writing  of  his 
reviews,  and  having  a  pretty  fair  share  of  desultory 
reading,  acquired  in  the  early  years  of  his  life,  an  eager 
fancy  and  a  keen  sense  of  fun,  his  articles  pleased  his 
chief  and  the  public,  and  he  was  proud  to  think  that  he 
deserved  the  money  which  he  earned.  We  may  be  sure 
that  the  "  Pall  Mall  Gazette  "  was  taken  in  regularly  at 
Fairoaks,  and  read  with  delight  by  the  two  ladies  there. 
It  was  received  at  Clavering  Park,  too,  where  we  know 
there  was  a  young  lady  of  great  literary  tastes;  and  old 
Doctor  Portman  himself,  to  whom  the  widow  sent  her 
paper  after  she  had  got  her  son's  articles  by  heart,  sig- 
nified his  approval  of  Pen's  productions,  saying  that 
the  lad  had  spirit,  taste,  and  fancy,  and  wrote,  if  not  like 
a  scholar,  at  any  rate  like  a  gentleman. 

And  what  was  the  astonishment  and  delight  of  our 
friend  Major  Pendennis,  on  walking  into  one  of  his 
clubs,  the  Regent,  where  Wenham,  Lord  Falconet,  and 
some  other  gentlemen  of  good  reputation  and  fashion 
were  assembled,  to  hear  them  one  day  talking  over  a 


PENDENNIS  561 

number  of  the  "  Pall  Mall  Gazette,"  and  of  an  article 
which  appeared  in  its  columns,  making  some  bitter  fun 
of  a  book  recently  published  by  the  wife  of  a  celebrated 
member  of  the  opposition  party.  The  book  in  question 
was  a  Book  of  Travels  in  Spain  and  Italy,  by  the 
Countess  of  Muffborough,  in  which  it  was  difficult  to 
say  which  was  the  most  wonderful,  the  French  or  the 
English,  in  which  languages  her  ladyship  wrote  indif- 
ferently, and  upon  the  blunders  of  which  the  critic 
pounced  with  delighted  mischief.  The  critic  was  no 
other  than  Pen:  he  jumped  and  danced  round  about  his 
subject  with  the  greatest  jocularity  and  high  spirits: 
he  showed  up  the  noble  lady's  faults  with  admirable 
mock  gravity  and  decorum.  There  was  not  a  word  in 
the  article  which  was  not  polite  and  gentleman-like ;  and 
the  unfortunate  subject  of  the  criticism  was  scarified 
and  laughed  at  during  the  operation.  Wenham's  bilious 
countenance  was  puckered  up  with  malign  pleasure  as 
he  read  the  critique.  Lady  Muffborough  had  not 
asked  him  to  her  parties  during  the  last  year.  Lord 
Falconet  giggled  and  laughed  with  all  his  heart;  Lord 
Muffborough  and  he  had  been  rivals  ever  since  they  be- 
gan life;  and  these  complimented  Major  Pendennis, 
who  until  now  had  scarcely  paid  any  attention  to  some 
hints  which  his  Fairoaks  correspondence  threw  out  of 
"  dear  Arthur's  constant  and  severe  literary  occupa- 
tions, which  I  fear  may  undermine  the  poor  boy's 
health,"  and  had  thought  any  notice  of  Mr.  Pen  and 
his  newspaper  connexions  quite  below  his  dignity  as  a 
Major  and  a  gentleman. 

But  when  the  oracular  Wenham  praised  the  boy's 
production ;  when  Lord  Falconet,  who  had  had  the  news 
from  Percy  Popjoy,  approved  of  the  genius  of  young 


562  PENDENNIS 

Pen ;  when  the  great  Lord  Steyne  himself,  to  whom  the 
Major  referred  the  article,  laughed  and  sniggered  over 
it,  swore  it  was  capital,  and  that  the  Muffborough  would 
writhe  under  it,  like  a  whale  under  a  harpoon,  the  Ma- 
jor, as  in  duty  bound,  began  to  admire  his  nephew  very 
much,  said,  "  By  gad,  the  young  rascal  had  some  stuff 
in  him,  and  would  do  something;  he  had  always  said  he 
would  do  something;  "  and  with  a  hand  quite  tremulous 
with  pleasure,  the  old  gentleman  sate  down  to  write  to 
the  widow  at  Fairoaks  all  that  the  great  folks  had  said 
in  praise  of  Pen ;  and  he  wrote  to  the  young  rascal,  too, 
asking  when  he  would  come  and  eat  a  chop  with  his  old 
uncle,  and  saying  that  he  was  commissioned  to  take  him 
to  dinner  at  Gaunt  House,  for  Lord  Steyne  liked  any- 
body who  could  entertain  him,  whether  by  his  folly,  wit, 
or  by  his  dulness,  by  his  oddity,  affectation,  good  spirits, 
or  any  other  quality.  Pen  flung  his  letter  across  the 
table  to  Warrington;  perhaps  he  was  disappointed  that 
the  other  did  not  seem  to  be  much  affected  by  it. 

The  courage  of  young  critics  is  prodigious:  they 
clamber  up  to  the  judgment  seat,  and,  with  scarce  a 
hesitation,  give  their  opinion  upon  works  the  most  in- 
tricate or  profound.  Had  Macaulay's  History  or  Her- 
schel's  Astronomy  been  put  before  Pen  at  this  pe- 
riod, he  would  have  looked  through  the  volumes, 
meditated  his  opinion  over  a  cigar,  and  signified  his 
august  approval  of  either  author,  as  if  the  critic  had 
been  their  born  superior  and  indulgent  master  and  pa- 
tron. By  the  help  of  the  Biographic  Universelle  or  the 
British  Museum,  he  would  be  able  to  take  a  rapid 
riwmi  of  a  historical  period,  and  allude  to  names,  dates, 
and  facts,  in  such  a  masterly,  easy  way,  as  to  astonish 
his  mamma  at  home,  who  wondered  where  her  boy  could 


PENDENNIS  563 

have  acquired  such  a  prodigious  store  of  reading,  and 
himself,  too,  when  he  came  to  read  over  his  articles  two 
or  three  months  after  they  had  been  composed,  and 
when  he  had  forgotten  the  subject  and  the  books  which 
he  had  consulted.  At  that  period  of  his  life  Mr.  Pen 
owns,  that  he  would  not  have  hesitated,  at  twenty-four 
hours'  notice,  to  pass  an  opinion  upon  the  greatest 
scholars,  or  to  give  a  judgment  upon  the  Encyclopaedia. 
Luckily  he  had  Warrington  to  laugh  at  him  and  to  keep 
down  his  impertinence  by  a  constant  and  wholesome 
ridicule,  or  he  might  have  become  conceited  beyond  all 
sufferance;  for  Shandon  liked  the  dash  and  flippancy 
of  his  young  aide-de-camp,  and  was,  indeed,  better 
pleased  with  Pen's  light  and  brilliant  flashes,  than  with 
the  heavier  metal  which  his  elder  coadjutor  brought  to 
bear. 

But  though  he  might  justly  be  blamed  on  the  score 
of  impertinence  and  a  certain  prematurity  of  judg- 
ment, Mr.  Pen  was  a  perfectly  honest  critic;  a  great 
deal  too  candid  for  Mr.  Bungay's  purposes,  indeed, 
who  grumbled  sadly  at  his  impartiality.  Pen  and  his 
chief,  the  Captain,  had  a  dispute  upon  this  subject 
one  day.  "  In  the  name  of  common  sense,  Mr. 
Pendennis,"  Shandon  asked,  "  what  have  you  been  do- 
ing—praising one  of  Mr.  Bacon's  books?  Bungay  has 
been  with  me  in  a  fury  this  morning,  at  seeing  a 
laudatory  article  upon  one  of  the  works  of  the  odious 
firm  over  the  way." 

Pen's  eyes  opened  with  wide  astonishment.  "  Do 
you  mean  to  say,"  he  asked,  "  that  we  are  to  praise  no 
books  that  Bacon  publishes:  or  that,  if  the  books  are 
good,  we  are  to  say  they  are  bad?" 

"  My  good  young  friend— for 'what  do  you  suppose 


564  PENDENNIS 

a  benevolent  publisher  undertakes  a  critical  journal,  to 
benefit  his  rival? "  Shandon  inquired. 

'  To  benefit  himself  certainly,  but  to  tell  the  truth 
too,"  Pen  said—  "  mat  ccelum,  to  tell  the  truth." 

"  And  my  prospectus,"  said  Shandon,  with  a  laugh 
and  a  sneer;  "  do  you  consider  that  was  a  work  of  mathe- 
matical accuracy  of  statement? " 

"Pardon  me,  that  is  not  the  question,"  Pen  said; 
"  and  I  don't  think  you  very  much  care  to  argue  it.  I 
had  some  qualms  of  conscience  about  that  same  pro- 
spectus, and  debated  the  matter  with  my  friend  War- 
rington.  We  agreed,  however,"  Pen  said,  laughing, 
"  that  because  the  prospectus  was  rather  declamatory 
and  poetical,  and  the  giant  was  painted  upon  the  show- 
board  rather  larger  than  the  original,  who  was  inside  the 
caravan,  we  need  not  be  too  scrupulous  about  this  tri- 
fling inaccuracy,  but  might  do  our  part  of  the  show, 
without  loss  of  character  or  remorse  of  conscience.  We 
are  the  fiddlers,  and  play  our  tunes  only;  you  are  the 
showman." 

"  And  leader  of  the  van,"  said  Shandon.  "  Well,  I 
am  glad  that  your  conscience  gave  you  leave  to  play 
for  us." 

'  Yes,  but,"  said  Pen,  with  a  fine  sense  of  the  dig- 
nity of  his  position,  "  we  are  all  party  men  in  England, 
and  I  will  stick  to  my  party  like  a  Briton.  I  will  be 
as  good-natured  as  you  like  to  our  own  side,  he  is  a  fool 
who  quarrels  with  his  own  nest;  and  I  will  hit  the 
enemy  as  hard  as  you  like— but  with  fair  play,  Captain, 
if  you  please.  One  can't  tell  all  the  truth,  I  suppose; 
but  one  can  tell  nothing  but  the  truth:  and  I  would 
rather  starve,  by  Jove,  and  never  earn  another  penny 
by  my  pen  "  (this  redoubted  instrument  had  now  been 


Fen  bean  himself  in  print 


PENDENNIS  565 

in  use  for  some  six  weeks,  and  Pen  spoke  of  it  with  vast 
enthusiasm  and  respect)  "  than  strike  an  opponent  an 
unfair  blow,  or,  if  called  upon  to  place  him,  rank  him 
below  his  honest  desert." 

4  Well,  Mr.  Pendennis,  when  we  want  Bacon 
smashed,  we  must  get  some  other  hammer  to  do  it," 
Shandon  said,  with  fatal  good-nature;  and  very  likely 
thought  within  himself,  "  A  few  years  hence  perhaps 
the  young  gentleman  won't  be  so  squeamish."  The 
veteran  Condottiere  himself  was  no  longer  so  scrupu- 
lous. He  had  fought  and  killed  on  so  many  a  side  for 
many  a  year  past,  that  remorse  had  long  left  him. 
"  Gad,"  said  he,  "  you've  a  tender  conscience,  Mr.  Pen- 
dennis. It's  the  luxury  of  all  novices,  and  I  may  have 
had  one  once  myself;  but  that  sort  of  bloom  wears  off 
with  the  rubbing  of  the  world,  and  I'm  not  going  to  the 
trouble  myself  of  putting  on  an  artificial  complexion, 
like  our  pious  friend  Wenham,  or  our  model  of  virtue, 
Wagg." 

"  I  don't  know  whether  some  people's  hypocrisy  is 
not  better,  Captain,  than  others'  cynicism." 

"  It's  more  profitable,  at  any  rate,"  said  the  Captain, 
biting  his  nails.  '  That  Wenham  is  as  dull  a  quack  as 
ever  quacked:  and  you  see  the  carriage  in  which  he 
drove  to  dinner.  'Faith,  it'll  be  a  long  time  before  Mrs. 
Shandon  will  take  a  drive  in  her  own  chariot.  God  help 
her,  poor  thing!  "  And  Pen  went  away  from  his  chief, 
after  their  little  dispute  and  colloquy,  pointing  his  own 
moral  to  the  Captain's  tale,  and  thinking  to  himself, 
"  Behold  this  man,  stored  with  genius,  wit,  learning, 
and  a  hundred  good  natural  gifts:  see  how  he  has 
wrecked  them,  by  paltering  with  his  honesty,  and  for- 
getting to  respect  himself.  Wilt  thou  remember  thy- 


566  PENDENNIS 

self,  O  Pen?  thou  art  conceited  enough!  Wilt  thou  sell 
thy  honour  for  a  bottle  ?  No,  by  heaven's  grace,  we  will 
be  honest,  whatever  befals,  and  our  mouths  shall  only 
speak  the  truth  when  they  open." 

A  punishment,  or,  at  least,  a  trial,  was  in  store  for 
Mr.  Pen.  In  the  very  next  Number  of  the  "  Pall  Mall 
Gazette,"  Warrington  read  out,  with  roars  of  laughter, 
an  article  which  by  no  means  amused  Arthur  Penden- 
nis,  who  was  himself  at  work  with  a  criticism  for  the 
next  week's  Number  of  the  same  journal;  and  in  which 
the  "  Spring  Annual "  was  ferociously  maltreated  by 
some  unknown  writer.  The  person  of  all  most  cruelly 
mauled  was  Pen  himself.  His  verses  had  not  appeared 
with  his  own  name  in  the  "  Spring  Annual,"  but  under 
an  assumed  signature.  As  he  had  refused  to  review 
the  book,  Shandon  had  handed  it  over  to  Mr.  Bludyer, 
with  directions  to  that  author  to  dispose  of  it.  And  he 
had  done  so  effectually.  Mr.  Bludyer,  who  was  a  man 
of  very  considerable  talent,  and  of  a  race  which,  I  be- 
lieve, is  quite  extinct  in  the  press  of  our  time,  had  a  cer- 
tain notoriety  in  his  profession,  and  reputation  for  sav- 
age humour.  He  smashed  and  trampled  down  the  poor 
spring  flowers  with  no  more  mercy  than  a  bull  would 
have  on  a  parterre ;  and  having  cut  up  the  volume  to  his 
heart's  content,  went  and  sold  it  at  a  bookstall,  and  pur- 
chased a  pint  of  brandy  with  the  proceeds  of  the  volume. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 


WHERE  PEN  APPEARS  IN  TOWN  AND  COUNTRY 

»ET  us  be  allowed  to  pass  over  a  few  months  of 
the  history  of  Mr.  Arthur  Pendennis's  lifetime, 
during  the  which,  many  events  may  have 
occurred  which  were  more 
interesting  and  exciting 
to  himself,  than  they 
would  be  likely  to  prove 
to  the  reader  of  his  present 
memoirs.  We  left  him, 
in  the  last  chapter, 
regularly  entered 
upon  his  business  as 
a  professional  writer, 
or  literary  hack, 
as  Mr.  Warrington 
chooses  to  style  him- 
self and  his  friend; 
and  we  know  how  the  life  of  any  hack,  legal  or  lit- 
erary, in  a  curacy,  or  in  a  marching  regiment,  or  at 
a  merchant's  desk,  is  full  of  routine,  and  tedious  of 
description.  One  day's  labour  resembles  another  much 
too  closely.  A  literary  man  has  often  to  work  for  his 
bread  against  time,  or  against  his  will,  or  in  spite  of  his 
health,  or  of  his  indolence,  or  of  his  repugnance  to  the 
subject  on  which  he  is  called  to  exert  himself,  just  like 
any  other  daily  toiler.  When  you  want  to  make  money 

567 


568  PENDENNIS 

by  Pegasus  (as  he  must,  perhaps,  who  has  no  other  sala- 
ble property),  farewell  poetry  and  aerial  flights:  Pega- 
sus only  rises  now  like  Mr.  Green's  balloon,  at  periods 
advertised  before-hand,  and  when  the  spectators'  money 
has  been  paid.  Pegasus  trots  in  harness,  over  the  stony 
pavement,  and  pulls  a  cart  or  a  cab  behind  him.  Often 
Pegasus  does  his  work  with  panting  sides  and  trembling 
knees,  and  not  seldom  gets  a  cut  of  the  whip  from  his 
driver. 

Do  not  let  us,  however,  be  too  prodigal  of  our  pity 
upon  Pegasus.  There  is  no  reason  why  this  animal 
should  be  exempt  from  labour,  or  illness,  or  decay,  any 
more  than  any  of  the  other  creatures  of  God's  world.  If 
he  gets  the  whip,  Pegasus  very  often  deserves  it,  and  I 
for  one  am  quite  ready  to  protest  with  my  friend,  George 
Warrington,  against  the  doctrine  which  some  poetical 
sympathisers  are  inclined  to  put  forward,  viz.,  that  men 
of  letters,  and  what  is  called  genius,  are  to  be  exempt 
from  the  prose  duties  of  this  daily,  bread-wanting,  tax- 
paying  life,  and  are  not  to  be  made  to  work  and  pay  like 
their  neighbours. 

Well  then,  the  "  Pall  Mall  Gazette  "  being  duly  es- 
tablished, and  Arthur  Pendennis's  merits  recognized  as 
a  flippant,  witty,  and  amusing  critic,  he  worked  away 
hard  every  week,  preparing  reviews  of  such  works  as 
came  into  his  department,  and  writing  his  reviews  with 
flippancy  certainly,  but  with  honesty,  and  to  the  best  of 
his  power.  It  might  be  that  a  historian  of  three-score, 
who  had  spent  a  quarter  of  a  century  in  composing  a 
work  of  which  our  young  gentleman  disposed  in  the 
course  of  a  couple  of  days'  reading  at  the  British  Mu- 
seum, was  not  altogether  fairly  treated  by  such  a  facile 
critic ;  or  that  a  poet,  who  had  been  elaborating  sublime 


PENDENNIS  569 

sonnets  and  odes  until  he  thought  them  fit  for  the  public 
and  for  fame,  was  annoyed  by  two  or  three  dozen  pert 
lines  in  Mr.  Pen's  review,  in  which  the  poet's  claims  were 
settled  by  the  critic,  as  if  the  latter  were  my  lord  on  the 
bench,  and  the  author  a  miserable  little  suitor  trembling 
before  him.  The  actors  at  the  theatres  complained  of 
him  wofully,  too,  and  very  likely  he  was  too  hard  upon 
them.  But  there  was  not  much  harm  done  after  all.  It 
is  different  now,  as  we  know ;  but  there  were  so  few  great 
historians,  or  great  poets,  or  great  actors,  in  Pen's  time, 
that  scarce  any  at  all  came  up  for  judgment  before  his 
critical  desk.  Those  who  got  a  little  whipping,  got  what 
in  the  main  was  good  for  them;  not  that  the  judge  was 
any  better  or  wiser  than  the  persons  whom  he  sentenced, 
or  indeed  ever  fancied  himself  so.  Pen  had  a  strong 
sense  of  humour  and  justice,  and  had  not  therefore  an 
overweening  respect  for  his  own  works;  besides,  he  had 
his  friend  Warrington  at  his  elbow — a  terrible  critic  if 
the  young  man  was  disposed  to  be  conceited,  and  more 
savage  over  Pen  than  ever  he  was  to  those  whom  he  tried 
at  his  literary  assize. 

By  these  critical  labours,  and  by  occasional  contribu- 
tions to  leading  articles  of  the  journal,  when,  without 
wounding  his  paper,  this  eminent  publicist  could  consci- 
entiously speak  his  mind,  Mr.  Arthur  Pendennis  gained 
the  sum  of  four  pounds  four  shillings  weekly,  and  with 
no  small  pains  and  labour.  Likewise  he  furnished 
Magazines  and  Reviews  with  articles  of  his  composition, 
and  is  believed  to  have  been  (though  on  this  score  he 
never  chooses  to  speak)  London  correspondent  of  the 
"  Chatteris  Champion,"  which  at  that  time  contained 
some  very  brilliant  and  eloquent  letters  from  the  me- 
tropolis. By  these  labours  the  fortunate  youth  was  en- 


570  PENDENNIS 

abled  to  earn  a  sum  very  nearly  equal  to  four  hundred 
pounds  a-year;  and  on  the  second  Christmas  after  his 
arrival  in  London,  he  actually  brought  a  hundred  pounds 
to  his  mother,  as  a  dividend  upon  the  debt  which  he  owed 
to  Laura.  That  Mrs.  Pendennis  read  every  word  of  her 
son's  works,  and  considered  him  to  be  the  profoundest 
thinker  and  most  elegant  writer  of  the  day;  that  she 
thought  his  retribution  of  the  hundred  pounds  an  act  of 
angelic  virtue ;  that  she  feared  he  was  ruining  his  health 
by  his  labours,  and  was  delighted  when  he  told  her  of  the 
society  which  he  met,  and  of  the  great  men  of  letters 
and  fashion  whom  he  saw,  will  be  imagined  by  all  read- 
ers who  have  seen  son-worship  amongst  mothers,  and 
that  charming  simplicity  of  love  with  which  women  in 
the  country  watch  the  career  of  their  darlings  in  London. 
If  John  has  held  such  and  such  a  brief;  if  Tom  has  been 
invited  to  such  and  such  a  ball;  or  George  has  met  this 
or  that  great  and  famous  man  at  dinner ;  what  a  delight 
there  is  in  the  hearts  of  mothers  and  sisters  at  home  in 
Somersetshire!  How  young  Hopeful's  letters  are  read 
and  remembered!  What  a  theme  for  village  talk  they 
give,  and  friendly  congratulation !  In  the  second  winter, 
Pen  came  for  a  very  brief  space,  and  cheered  the  widow's 
heart,  and  lightened  up  the  lonely  house  at  Fairoaks. 
Helen  had  her  son  all  to  herself;  Laura  was  away  on  a 
visit  to  old  Lady  Rockminster;  the  folks  of  Clavering 
Park  were  absent ;  the  very  few  old  friends  of  the  house, 
Doctor  Portman  at  their  head,  called  upon  Mr.  Pen,  and 
treated  him  with  marked  respect;  between  mother  and 
son,  it  was  all  fondness,  confidence,  and  affection.  It 
was  the  happiest  fortnight  of  the  widow's  whole  life; 
perhaps  in  the  lives  of  both  of  them.  The  holiday  was 
gone  only  too  quickly;  and  Pen  was  back  in  the  busy 


PENDENNIS  571 

world,  and  the  gentle  widow  alone  again.  She  sent  Ar- 
thur's money  to  Laura:  I  don't  know  why  this  young 
lady  took  the  opportunity  of  leaving  home  when  Pen 
was  coming  thither,  or  whether  he  was  the  more  piqued 
or  relieved  by  her  absence. 

He  was  by  this  time,  by  his  own  merits  and  his  uncle's 
introductions,  pretty  well  introduced  into  London,  and 
known  both  in  literary  and  polite  circles.  Amongst  the 
former  his  fashionable  reputation  stood  him  in  no  little 
stead ;  he  was  considered  to  be  a  gentleman  of  good  pres- 
ent means  and  better  expectations,  who  wrote  for  his 
pleasure,  than  which  there  cannot  be  a  greater  recom- 
mendation to  a  young  literary  aspirant.  Bacon,  Bun- 
gay,  and  Co.,  were  proud  to  accept  his  articles;  Mr. 
Wenham  asked  him  to  dinner;  Mr.  Wagg  looked  upon 
him  with  a  favourable  eye;  and  they  reported  how  they 
met  him  at  the  houses  of  persons  of  fashion,  amongst 
whom  he  was  pretty  welcome,  as  they  did  not  trouble 
themselves  about  his  means,  present  or  future ;  as  his  ap- 
pearance and  address  were  good;  and  as  he  had  got  a 
character  for  being  a  clever  fellow.  Finally,  he  was 
asked  to  one  house,  because  he  was  seen  at  another  house : 
and  thus  no  small  varieties  of  London  life  were  pre- 
sented to  the  young  man :  he  was  made  familiar  with  all 
sorts  of  people  from  Paternoster  Row  to  Pimlico,  and 
was  as  much  at  home  at  Mayf air  dining-tables  as  at  those 
tavern  boards  where  some  of  his  companions  of  the  pen 
were  accustomed  to  assemble. 

Full  of  high  spirits  and  curiosity,  easily  adapting  him- 
self to  all  whom  he  met,  the  young  fellow  pleased  him- 
self in  this  strange  variety  and  jumble  of  men,  and  made 
himself  welcome,  or  at  ease  at  least,  wherever  he  went. 
He  would  breakfast,  for  instance,  at  Mr.  Plover's  of  a 


572 


PENDENNIS 


morning,  in  company  with  a  Peer,  a  Bishop,  a  parlia- 
mentary orator,  two  blue  ladies  of  fashion,  a  popular 
preacher,  the  author  of  the  last  new  novel,  and  the  very 
latest  lion  imported  from  Egypt  or  from  America ;  and 


would  quit  this  distinguished  society  for  the  back  room 
at  the  newspaper  office,  where  pens  and  ink  and  the  wet 
proof  sheets  were  awaiting  him.  Here  would  be  Finu- 
cane,  the  sub-editor,  with  the  last  news  from  the  Row: 
and  Shandon  would  come  in  presently,  and  giving  a  nod 
.to  Pen,  would  begin  scribbling  his  leading  article  at  the 


PENDENNIS  573 

other  end  of  the  table,  flanked  by  the  pint  of  sherry, 
which,  when  the  attendant  boy  beheld  him,  was  always 
silently  brought  for  the  Captain :  or  Mr.  Bludyer's  roar- 
ing voice  would  be  heard  in  the  front  room,  where  that 
truculent  critic  would  impound  the  books  on  the  counter 
in  spite  of  the  timid  remonstrances  of  Mr.  Midge,  the 
publisher,  and  after  looking  through  the  volumes  would 
sell  them  at  his  accustomed  book-stall,  and  having 
drunken  and  dined  upon  the  produce  of  the  sale  in  a  tav- 
ern box,  would  call  for  ink  and  paper,  and  proceed  to 
"  smash  "  the  author  of  his  dinner  and  the  novel.  To- 
wards evening  Mr.  Pen  would  stroll  in  the  direction  of 
his  club,  and  take  up  Warrington  there  for  a  constitu- 
tional walk.  This  exercise  freed  the  lungs,  and  gave  an 
appetite  for  dinner,  after  which  Pen  had  the  privilege 
to  make  his  bow  at  some  very  pleasant  houses  which  were 
opened  to  him;  or  the  town  before  him  for  amusement. 
There  was  the  Opera :  or  the  Eagle  Tavern ;  or  a  ball  to 
go  to  in  May  Fair;  or  a  quiet  night  with  a  cigar  and  a 
book  and  a  long  talk  with  Warrington ;  or  a  wonderful 
new  song  at  the  Back  Kitchen; — at  this  time  of  his  life 
Mr.  Pen  beheld  all  sorts  of  places  and  men;  and  very 
likely  did  not  know  how  much  he  enjoyed  himself  until 
long  after,  when  balls  gave  him  no  pleasure,  neither  did 
farces  make  him  laugh;  nor  did  the  tavern  joke  produce 
the  least  excitement  in  him;  nor  did  the  loveliest  dancer 
that  ever  showed  her  ankles  cause  him  to  stir  from  his 
chair  after  dinner.  At  his  present  mature  age  all  these 
pleasures  are  over:  and  the  times  have  passed  away  too. 
It  is  but  a  very  very  few  years  since — but  the  time  is 
gone,  and  most  of  the  men.  Bludyer  will  no  more  bully 
authors  or  cheat  landlords  of  their  score.  Shandon,  the 
learned  and  thriftless,  the  witty  and  unwise,  sleeps  his 


574  PENDENNIS 

last  sleep.  They  buried  honest  Doolan  the  other  day: 
never  will  he  cringe  or  flatter,  never  pull  long-bow  or 
empty  whiskey-noggin  any  more. 

The  London  season  was  now  blooming  in  its  full 
vigour,  and  the  fashionable  newspapers  abounded  with 
information  regarding  the  grand  banquets,  routs,  and 
balls  which  were  enlivening  the  polite  world.  Our  gra- 
cious Sovereign  was  holding  levees  and  drawing-rooms 
at  St.  James's:  the  bow-windows  of  the  clubs  were 
crowded  with  the  heads  of  respectable  red-faced  news- 
paper-reading gentlemen:  along  the  Serpentine  trailed 
thousands  of  carriages:  squadrons  of  dandy  horsemen 
trampled  over  Rotten  Row :  everybody  was  in  town  in  a 
word;  and  of  course  Major  Arthur  Pendennis,  who  was 
somebody,  was  not  absent. 

With  his  head  tied  up  in  a  smart  bandana  handker- 
chief, and  his  meagre  carcass  enveloped  in  a  brilliant 
Turkish  dressing-gown,  the  worthy  gentleman  sate  on 
a  certain  morning  by  his  fire-side,  letting  his  feet  gently 
simmer  in  a  bath,  whilst  he  took  his  early  cup  of  tea,  and 
perused  his  "  Morning  Post."  He  could  not  have  faced 
the  day  without  his  two  hours'  toilet,  without  his  early 
cup  of  tea,  without  his  "  Morning  Post."  I  suppose  no- 
body in  the  world  except  Morgan,  not  even  Morgan's 
master  himself,  knew  how  feeble  and  ancient  the  Major 
was  growing,  and  what  numberless  little  comforts  he  re- 
quired. 

If  men  sneer,  as  our  habit  is,  at  the  artifices  of  an  old 
beauty,  at  her  paint,  perfumes,  ringlets;  at  those  in- 
numerable, and  to  us  unknown,  stratagems  with  which 
she  is  said  to  remedy  the  ravages  of  time  and  reconstruct 
the  charms  whereof  years  have  bereft  her;  the  ladies,  it 


PENDENNIS  575 

is  to  be  presumed,  are  not  on  their  side  altogether  igno- 
rant that  men  are  vain  as  well  as  they,  and  that  the  toilets 
of  old  bucks  are  to  the  full  as  elaborate  as  their  own. 
How  is  it  that  old  Blushington  keeps  that  constant  little 
rose-tint  on  his  cheeks;  and  where  does  old  Blondel  get 
the  preparation  which  makes  his  silver  hair  pass  for 
golden?  Have  you  ever  seen  Lord  Hotspur  get  off  his 
horse  when  he  thinks  nobody  is  looking?  Taken  out  of 
his  stirrups,  his  shiny  boots  can  hardly  totter  up  the  steps 
of  Hotspur  House.  He  is  a  dashing  young  nobleman 
still  as  you  see  the  back  of  him  in  Rotten  Row;  when 
you  behold  him  on  foot,  what  an  old,  old  fellow!  Did 
you  ever  form  to  yourself  any  idea  of  Dick  Lacy  (Dick 
has  been  Dick  these  sixty  years)  in  a  natural  state,  and 
without  his  stays?  All  these  men  are  objects  whom  the 
observer  of  human  life  and  manners  may  contemplate 
with  as  much  profit  as  the  most  elderly  Belgravian  Ve- 
nus, or  inveterate  Mayfair  Jezebel.  An  old  reprobate 
daddy  longlegs,  who  has  never  said  his  prayers  (except 
perhaps  in  public)  these  fifty  years:  an  old  buck  who 
still  clings  to  as  many  of  the  habits  of  youth  as  his  feeble 
grasp  of  health  can  hold  by :  who  has  given  up  the  bottle, 
but  sits  with  young  fellows  over  it,  and  tells  naughty 
stories  upon  toast  and  water — who  has  given  up  beauty, 
but  still  talks  about  it  as  wickedly  as  the  youngest  roue 
in  company— such  an  old  fellow,  I  say,  if  any  parson  in 
Pimlico  or  St.  James's  were  to  order  the  beadles  to  bring 
him  into  the  middle  aisle,  and  there  set  him  in  an  arm- 
chair, and  make  a  text  of  him,  and  preach  about  him  to 
the  congregation,  could  be  turned  to  a  wholesome  use 
for  once  in  his  life,  and  might  be  surprised  to  find  that 
some  good  thoughts  came  out  of  him.  But,  we  are  wan- 
dering from  our  text,  the  honest  Major,  who  sits  all  this 


576  PENDENNIS 

while  with  his  feet  cooling  in  the  bath:  Morgan  takes 
them  out  of  that  place  of  purification,  and  dries  them 
daintily,  and  proceeds  to  set  the  old  gentleman  on  his 
legs,  with  waistband  and  wig,  starched  cravat,  and  spot- 
less boots  and  gloves. 

It  was  during  these  hours  of  the  toilet  that  Morgan 
and  his  employer  had  their  confidential  conversations, 
for  they  did  not  meet  much  at  other  times  of  the  day— 
the  Major  abhorring  the  society  of  his  own  chairs  and 
tables  in  his  lodgings;  and  Morgan,  his  master's  toilet 
over  and  letters  delivered,  had  his  time  very  much  on  his 
own  hands. 

This  spare  time  the  active  and  well-mannered  gentle- 
man bestowed  among  the  valets  and  butlers  of  the  no- 
bility, his  acquaintance;  and  Morgan  Pendennis,  as  he 
was  styled,  for,  by  such  compound  names,  gentlemen's 
gentlemen  are  called  in  their  private  circles,  was  a  fre- 
quent and  welcome  guest  at  some  of  the  very  highest 
tables  in  this  town.  He  was  a  member  of  two  influential 
clubs  in  Mayfair  and  Pimlico;  and  he  was  thus  enabled 
to  know  the  whole  gossip  of  the  town,  and  entertain 
his  master  very  agreeably  during  the  two  hours'  toilet 
conversation.  He  knew  a  hundred  tales  and  legends  re- 
garding persons  of  the  very  highest  ton,  whose  valets 
canvass  their  august  secrets,  just,  my  dear  madam,  as 
our  own  parlour-maids  and  dependents  in  the  kitchen 
discuss  our  characters,  our  stinginess  and  generosity,  our 
pecuniary  means  or  embarrassments,  and  our  little  do- 
mestic or  connubial  tiffs  and  quarrels.  If  I  leave  this 
manuscript  open  on  my  table,  I  have  not  the  slightest 
doubt  Betty  will  read  it,  and  they  will  talk  it  over  in 
the  lower  regions  to-night ;  and  to-morrow  she  will  bring 
in  my  breakfast  with  a  face  of  such  entire  imperturbable 


PENDENNIS  577 

innocence,  that  no  mortal  could  suppose  her  guilty  of 
playing  the  spy.  If  you  and  the  Captain  have  high 
words  upon  any  subject,  which  is  just  possible,  the  cir- 
cumstances of  the  quarrel,  and  the  characters  of  both  of 
you,  will  be  discussed  with  impartial  eloquence  over  the 
kitchen  tea-table;  and  if  Mrs.  Smith's  maid  should  by 
chance  be  taking  a  dish  of  tea  with  yours,  her  presence 
will  not  undoubtedly  act  as  a  restraint  upon  the  discus- 
sion in  question ;  her  opinion  will  be  given  with  candour ; 
and  the  next  day  her  mistress  will  probably  know  that 
Captain  and  Mrs.  Jones  have  been  a  quarrelling  as  usual. 
Nothing  is  secret.  Take  it  as  a  rule  that  John  knows 
everything:  and  as  in  our  humble  world  so  in  the  great- 
est: a  duke  is  no  more  a  hero  to  his  valet-de-chambre 
than  you  or  I ;  and  his  Grace's  Man  at  his  club,  in  com- 
pany doubtless  with  other  Men  of  equal  social  rank, 
talks  over  his  master's  character  and  affairs  with  the  in- 
genuous truthfulness  which  befits  gentlemen  who  are 
met  together  in  confidence.  Who  is  a  niggard  and 
screws  up  his  money-boxes:  who  is  in  the  hands  of  the 
money-lenders,  and  is  putting  his  noble  name  on  the  back 
of  bills  of  exchange:  who  is  intimate  with  whose  wife: 
who  wants  whom  to  marry  her  daughter,  and  which  he 
won't,  no  not  at  any  price: — all  these  facts  gentlemen's 
confidential  gentlemen  discuss  confidentially,  and  are 
known  and  examined  by  every  person  who  has  any 
claim  to  rank  in  genteel  society.  In  a  word,  if  old  Pen- 
dennis  himself  was  said  to  know  everything,  and  was  at 
once  admirably  scandalous  and  delightfully  discreet;  it 
is  but  justice  to  Morgan  to  say,  that  a  great  deal  of  his 
master's  information  was  supplied  to  that  worthy  man 
by  his  valet,  who  went  out  and  foraged  knowledge  for 
him.  Indeed,  what  more  effectual  plan  is  there  to  get 


578  PENDENNIS 

a  knowledge  of  London  society,  than  to  begin  at  the 
foundation — that  is,  at  the  kitchen-floor? 

So  Mr.  Morgan  and  his  employer  conversed  as  the 
latter's  toilet  proceeded.  There  had  been  a  Drawing- 
room  on  the  day  previous,  and  the  Major  read  among  the 
presentations  that  of  Lady  Clavering  by  Lady  Rock- 
minster,  and  of  Miss  Amory  by  her  mother  Lady  Claver- 
ing,— and  in  a  further  part  of  the  paper  their  dresses 
were  described,  with  a  precision  and  in  a  jargon  which 
will  puzzle  and  amuse  the  antiquary  of  future  genera- 
tions. The  sight  of  these  names  carried  Pendennis  back 
to  the  country.  "  How  long  have  the  Claverings  been 
in  London? "  he  asked;  "  pray,  Morgan,  have  you  seen 
any  of  their  people?  " 

"Sir  Francis  have  sent  away  his  foring  man,  sir,"  Mr. 
Morgan  replied ;  "  and  have  took  a  friend  of  mine  as  own 
man,  sir.  Indeed  he  applied  on  my  reckmendation. 
You  may  recklect  Towler,  sir, — tall  red-'aired  man — but 
dyes  his  'air.  Was  groom  of  the  chambers  in  Lord  Le- 
vant's family  till  his  Lordship  broke  hup.  It's  a  fall  for 
Towler,  sir;  but  pore  men  can't  be  particklar,"  said  the 
valet,  with  a  pathetic  voice. 

"  Devilish  hard  on  Towler,  by  gad!  "  said  the  Major, 
amused,  "  and  not  pleasant  for  Lord  Levant— he,  he!  " 

"  Always  knew  it  was  coming,  sir.  I  spoke  to  you  of 
it  Michaelmas  was  four  years:  when  her  Ladyship  put 
the  diamonds  in  pawn.  It  was  Towler,  sir,  took  'em  in 
two  cabs  to  Dobree's— and  a  good  deal  of  the  plate  went 
the  same  way.  Don't  you  remember  seeing  of  it  at 
Blackwall,  with  the  Levant  arms  and  coronick,  and 
Lord  Levant  sett'n'  opp'sit'  to  it  at  the  Marquis  of 
Steyne's  dinner?  Beg  your  pardon;  did  I  cut  you,  sir?  " 

Morgan  was  now  operating  upon  the  Major's  chin — 


PENDENNIS  579 

he  continued  the  theme  while  strapping  the  skilful  razor. 
"  They've  took  a  house  in  Grosvenor  Place,  and  are  com- 
ing out  strong,  sir.  Her  ladyship's  going  to  give  three 
parties,  besides  a  dinner  a-week,  sir.  Her  fortune  won't 
stand  it— can't  stand  it." 

"  Gad,  she  had  a  devilish  good  cook  when  I  was  at 
Fairoaks,"  the  Major  said,  with  very  little  compassion 
for  the  widow  Amory's  fortune. 

"  Marobblan  was  his  name,  sir; — Marobblan's  gone 
away,  sir,"  Morgan  said, — and  the  Major,  this  time, 
with  hearty  sympathy,  said,  "  he  was  devilish  sorry  to 
lose  him." 

'  There's  been  a  tremenjuous  row  about  that  Mosseer 
Marobblan,"  Morgan  continued.  "  At  a  ball  at  Bay- 
mouth,  sir,  bless  his  impadence,  he  challenged  Mr.  Har- 
thur  to  fight  a  jewel,  sir,  which  Mr.  Harthur  was  very 
near  knocking  him  down,  and  pitchin'  him  outa- 
winder,  and  serve  him  right;  but  Chevalier  Strong, 
sir,  came  up  and  stopped  the  shindy — I  beg  pardon,  the 
holtercation,  sir — them  French  cooks  has  as  much  pride 
and  hinsolence  as  if  they  was  real  gentlemen." 

"  I  heard  something  of  that  quarrel,"  said  the  Major; 
"  but  Mirobolant  was  not  turned  off  for  that? " 

"  No,  sir— that  affair,  sir,  which  Mr.  Harthur  for- 
gave it  him  and  be'aved  most  handsome,  was  hushed  hup : 
it  was  about  Miss  Hamory,  sir,  that  he  'ad  'is  dismissial. 
Those  French  fellers,  they  fancy  everybody  is  in  love 
with  'em ;  and  he  climbed  up  the  large  grape  vine  to  her 
winder,  sir,  and  was  a  trying  to  get  in,  when  he  was 
caught,  sir;  and  Mr.  Strong  came  out,  and  they  got  the 
garden-engine  and  played  on  him,  and  there  was  no  end 
of  a  row,  sir." 

"  Confound  his  impudence!    You  don't  mean  to  say 


580  PENDENNIS 

Miss  Amory  encouraged  him,"  cried  the  Major,  amazed 
at  a  peculiar  expression  in  Mr.  Morgan's  countenance. 
Morgan  resumed  his  imperturbable  demeanour. 
"  Know  nothing  about  it,  sir.  Servants  don't  know  them 
kind  of  things  the  least.  Most  probably  there  was  no- 
thing in  it — so  many  lies  is  told  about  families — Marob- 
blan  went  away,  bag  and  baggage,  saucepans,  and  pi- 
anna,  and  all— the  feller  'ad  a  pianna,  and  wrote  po'try 
in  French,  and  he  took  a  lodging  at  Clavering,  and  he 
hankered  about  the  primises,  and  it  was  said  that  Ma- 
dame Fribsby,  the  milliner,  brought  letters  to  Miss 
Hamory,  though  I  don't  believe  a  word  about  it;  nor 
that  he  tried  to  pi'son  hisself  with  charcoal,  which  it  was 
all  a  humbug  betwigst  him  and  Madame  Fribsby;  and 
he  was  nearly  shot  by  the  keeper  in  the  park." 

In  the  course  of  that  very  day,  it  chanced  that  the 
Major  had  stationed  himself  in  the  great  window  of 
Bays's  Club  in  St.  James's  Street,  at  the  hour  in  the 
afternoon  when  you  see  a  half -score  of  respectable  old 
bucks  similarly  recreating  themselves  (Bays's  is  rather 
an  old-fashioned  place  of  resort  now,  and  many  of  its 
members  more  than  middle-aged ;  but  in  the  time  of  the 
Prince  Regent,  these  old  fellows  occupied  the  same  win- 
dow, and  were  some  of  the  very  greatest  dandies  in  this 
empire)  — Major  Pendennis  was  looking  from  the  great 
window,  and  spied  his  nephew  Arthur  walking  down  the 
street  in  company  with  his  friend  Mr.  Popjoy. 

"  Look  I "  said  Popjoy  to  Pen,  as  they  passed,  "  did 
you  ever  pass  Bays's  at  four  o'clock,  without  seeing  that 
collection  of  old  fogies?  It's  a  regular  museum.  They 
ought  to  be  cast  in  wax,  and  set  up  at  Madame  Tus- 
saud's-" 


PENDENNIS 


581 


-In  a  chamber  of  old  horrors  by  themselves,"  Pen 
said,  laughing. 


" — In  the  chamber  of  horrors!  Gad,  dooced  good! " 
Pop  cried.  *  They  are  old  rogues,  most  of  'em,  and  no 
mistake.  There's  old  Blondel;  there's  my  uncle  Colchi- 
cum,  the  most  confounded  old  sinner  in  Europe ;  there's 


582  PENDENNIS 

—hullo!  there's  somebody  rapping  the  window  and  nod- 
ding at  us." 

"  It's  my  uncle,  the  Major,"  said  Pen.  "  Is  he  an  old 
sinner  too? " 

"  Notorious  old  rogue,"  Pop  said,  wagging  his  head. 
("  Notowious  old  wogue,"  he  pronounced  the  words, 
thereby  rendering  them  much  more  emphatic.)  "  He's 
beckoning  you  in ;  he  wants  to  speak  to  you." 

"  Come  in  too,"  Pen  said. 

"—Can't,"  replied  the  other.  "  Cut  uncle  Col.  two 
years  ago,  about  Mademoiselle  Frangipane — Ta,  ta," 
and  the  young  sinner  took  leave  of  Pen,  and  the  club  of 
the  elder  criminals,  and  sauntered  into  Blacquiere's,  an 
adjacent  establishment  frequented  by  reprobates  of  his 
own  age. 

Colchicum,  Blondel,  and  the  senior  bucks  had  just 
been  conversing  about  the  Clavering  family,  whose  ap- 
pearance in  London  had  formed  the  subject  of  Major 
Pendennis's  morning  conversation  with  his  valet.  Mr. 
Blondel's  house  was  next  to  that  of  Sir  Francis  Claver- 
ing, in  Grosvenor  Place :  giving  very  good  dinners  him- 
self, he  had  remarked  some  activity  in  his  neighbour's 
kitchen.  Sir  Francis,  indeed,  had  a  new  chef,  who  had 
come  in  more  than  once  and  dressed  Mr.  Blondel's  din- 
ner for  him;  that  gentleman  having  only  a  remarkably 
expert  female  artist  permanently  engaged  in  his  estab- 
lishment, and  employing  such  chefs  of  note  as  happened 
to  be  free  on  the  occasion  of  his  grand  banquets.  '  They 
go  to  a  devilish  expense  and  see  devilish  bad  company 
as  yet,  I  hear,"  Mr.  Blondel  said,—  "  they  scour  the 
streets,  by  gad,  to  get  people  to  dine  with  'em.  Cham- 
pignon says  it  breaks  his  heart  to  serve  up  a  dinner  to 
their  society.  What  a  shame  it  is  that  those  low  people 


PENDENNIS  583 

should  have  money  at  all,"  cried  Mr.  Blondel,  whose 
grandfather  had  been  a  reputable  leather-breeches 
maker,  and  whose  father  had  lent  money  to  the  Princes. 

"  I  wish  I  had  fallen  in  with  the  widow  myself," 
sighed  Lord  Colchicum,  "  and  not  been  laid  up  with  that 
confounded  gout  at  Leghorn. — I  would  have  married 
the  woman  myself. — I'm  told  she  has  six  hundred  thou- 
sand pounds  in  the  Threes." 

"  Not  quite  so  much  as  that, — I  knew  her  family  in 
India," — Major  Pendennis  said.  "  I  knew  her  family 
in  India ;  her  father  was  an  enormously  rich  old  indigo- 
planter, — know  all  about  her, — Clavering  has  the  next 
estate  to  ours  in  the  country. — Ha!  there's  my  nephew 
walking  with  " — "  With  mine, — the  infernal  young 
scamp,"  said  Lord  Colchicum,  glowering  at  Popjoy  out 
of  his  heavy  eyebrows;  and  he  turned  away  from  the 
window  as  Major  Pendennis  tapped  upon  it. 

The  Major  was  in  high  good-humour.  The  sun  was 
bright,  the  air  brisk  and  invigorating.  He  had  deter- 
mined upon  a  visit  to  Lady  Clavering  on  that  day,  and 
bethought  him  that  Arthur  would  be  a  good  companion 
for  the  walk  across  the  Green  Park  to  her  ladyship's 
door.  Master  Pen  was  not  displeased  to  accompany  his 
illustrious  relative,  who  pointed  out  a  dozen  great  men 
in  their  brief  transit  through  St.  James's  Street,  and  got 
bows  from  a  Duke,  at  a  crossing,  a  Bishop  (on  a  cob), 
and  a  Cabinet  Minister  with  an  umbrella.  The  Duke 
gave  the  elder  Pendennis  a  finger  of  a  pipe-clayed  glove 
to  shake,  which  the  Major  embraced  with  great  venera- 
tion ;  and  all  Pen's  blood  tingled,  as  he  found  himself  in 
actual  communication,  as  it  were,  with  this  famous  man 
(for  Pen  had  possession  of  the  Major's  left  arm,  whilst 
that  gentleman's  other  wing  w.as  engaged  with  his 


584  PENDENNIS 

Grace's  right),  and  he  wished  all  Grey  Friars'  School, 
all  Oxbridge  University,  all  Paternoster  Row  and  the 
Temple,  and  Laura  and  his  mother  at  Fairoaks,  could 
be  standing  on  each  side  of  the  street,  to  see  the  meeting 
between  him  and  his  uncle,  and  the  most  famous  duke 
in  Christendom. 

"  How  do,  Pendennis?— fine  day,"  were  his  Grace's 
remarkable  words,  and  with  a  nod  of  his  august  head  he 
passed  on — in  a  blue  frock-coat  and  spotless  white  duck 
trowsers,  in  a  white  stock,  with  a  shining  buckle  behind. 

Old  Pendennis,  whose  likeness  to  his  Grace  has  been 
remarked,  began  to  imitate  him  unconsciously,  after  they 
had  parted,  speaking  with  curt  sentences,  after  the  man- 
ner of  the  great  man.  We  have  all  of  us,  no  doubt,  met 
with  more  than  one  military  officer  who  has  so  imitated 
the  manner  of  a  certain  Great  Captain  of  the  Age ;  and 
has,  perhaps,  changed  his  own  natural  character  and  dis- 
position, because  Fate  had  endowed  him  with  an  aqui- 
line nose.  In  like  manner  have  we  not  seen  many  an- 
other man  pride  himself  on  having  a  tall  forehead  and 
a  supposed  likeness  to  Mr.  Canning?  many  another  go 
through  life  swelling  with  self -gratification  on  account 
of  an  imagined  resemblance  (we  say  "  imagined,"  be- 
cause that  anybody  should  be  really  like  that  most  beau- 
tiful and  perfect  of  men  is  impossible)  to  the  great  and 
revered  George  IV.:  many  third  parties,  who  wore  low 
necks  to  their  dresses  because  they  fancied  that  Lord  By- 
ron and  themselves  were  similar  in  appearance :  and  has 
not  the  grave  closed  but  lately  upon  poor  Tom  Bicker- 
staff,  who,  having  no  more  imagination  than  Mr.  Joseph 
Hume,  looked  in  the  glass  and  fancied  himself  like 
Shakspeare?  shaved  his  forehead  so  as  farther  to  re- 
semble the  immortal  bard,  wrote  tragedies  incessantly, 


PENDENNYIS  585 

and  died  perfectly  crazy— actually  perished  of  his  fore- 
head? These  or  similar  freaks  of  vanity  most  people 
who  have  frequented  the  world  must  have  seen  in  their 
experience.  Pen  laughed  in  his  roguish  sleeve  at  the 
manner  in  which  his  uncle  began  to  imitate  the  great 
man  from  whom  they  had  just  parted:  but  Mr.  Pen  was 
as  vain  in  his  own  way,  perhaps,  as  the  elder  gentleman, 
and  strutted,  with  a  very  consequential  air  of  his  own, 
by  the  Major's  side. 

'  Yes,  my  dear  boy,"  said  the  old  bachelor,  as  they 
sauntered  through  the  Green  Park,  where  many  poor 
children  were  disporting  happily,  and  errand  boys  were 
playing  at  toss  halfpenny,  and  black  sheep  were  grazing 
in  the  sunshine,  and  an  actor  was  learning  his  part  on  a 
bench,  and  nursery  maids  and  their  charges  sauntered 
here  and  there,  and  several  couples  were  walking  in  a 
leisurely  manner;  "  yes,  depend  on  it,  my  boy;  for  a  poor 
man,  there  is  nothing  like  having  good  acquaintances. 
Who  were  those  men,  with  whom  you  saw  me  in  the  bow 
window  at  Bays's?  Two  were  Peers  of  the  realm. 
Hobanob  will  be  a  Peer,  as  soon  as  his  grand-uncle  dies, 
and  he  has  had  his  third  seizure;  and  of  the  other  four, 
not  one  has  less  than  his  seven  thousand  a-year.  Did 
you  see  that  dark  blue  brougham,  with  that  tremendous 
stepping  horse,  waiting  at  the  door  of  the  club?  You'll 
know  it  again.  It  is  Sir  Hugh  Trumpington's;  he  was 
never  known  to  walk  in  his  life;  never  appears  in  the 
streets  on  foot— never:  and  if  he  is  going  two  doors  off, 
to  see  his  mother,  the  old  dowager  (to  whom  I  shall 
certainly  introduce  you,  for  she  receives  some  of  the 
best  company  in  London ) ,  gad,  sir,  he  mounts  his  horse 
at  No.  23,  and  dismounts  again  at  No.  25A.  He  is  now 
up  stairs,  at  Bays's,  playing  picquet  with  Count  Punter: 


586  PENDENNIS 

he  is  the  second-best  player  in  England— as  well  he 
may  be ;  for  he  plays  every  day  of  his  life,  except  Sun- 
days ( for  Sir  Hugh  is  an  uncommonly  religious  man ) , 
from  half-past  three  till  half-past  seven,  when  he  dresses 
for  dinner." 

"  A  very  pious  manner  of  spending  his  time,"  Pen 
said,  laughing,  and  thinking  that  his  uncle  was  falling 
into  the  twaddling  state. 

"  Gad,  sir,  that  is  not  the  question.  A  man  of  his  es- 
tate may  employ  his  time  as  he  chooses.  When  you  are  a 
baronet,  a  county  member,  with  ten  thousand  acres  of  the 
best  land  in  Cheshire,  and  such  a  place  as  Trumpington 
(though  he  never  goes  there),  you  may  do  as  you  like." 

"  And  so  that  was  his  brougham,  sir,  was  it? "  the 
nephew  said,  with  almost  a  sneer. 

"His  brougham — O  ay,  yes  1— and  that  brings  me 
back  to  my  point — revenons  a  nos  moutons.  Yes,  begad ! 
revenons  a  nos  moutons.  Well,  that  brougham  is  mine 
if  I  choose,  between  four  and  seven.  Just  as  much  mine 
as  if  I  jobbed  it  from  Tilbury's,  begad,  for  thirty  pound 
a-month.  Sir  Hugh  is  the  best-natured  fellow  in  the 
world ;  and  if  it  hadn't  been  so  fine  an  afternoon  as  it  is, 
you  and  I  would  have  been  in  that  brougham  at  this  very 
minute,  on  our  way  to  Grosvenor  Place.  That  is  the 
benefit  of  knowing  rich  men;— I  dine  for  nothing,  sir; 
-I  go  into  the  country,  and  I'm  mounted  for  nothing. 
Other  fellows  keep  hounds  and  gamekeepers  for  me.  Sic 
vos  non  vobis>  as  we  used  to  say  at  Grey  Friars,  hey?  I'm 
of  the  opinion  of  my  old  friend  Leech,  of  the  Forty- 
fourth;  and  a  devilish  good  shrewd  fellow  he  was,  as 
most  Scotchmen  are.  Gad,  sir,  Leech  used  to  say,  '  He 
was  so  poor  that  he  couldn't  afford  to  know  a  poor 


man.' ' 


PENDENNIS  587 

•"  You  don't  act  up  to  your  principles,  uncle,"  Pen 
said,  good-naturedly. 

"  Up  to  my  principles;  how,  sir?  "  the  Major  asked, 
rather  testily. 

'  You  would  have  cut  me  in  Saint  James's  Street,  sir," 
Pen  said,  "  were  your  practice  not  more  benevolent  than 
your  theory;  you  who  live  with  dukes  and  magnates  of 
the  land,  and  would  take  no  notice  of  a  poor  devil  like 
me."  By  which  speech  we  may  see  that  Mr.  Pen  was 
getting  on  in  the  world,  and  could  flatter  as  well  as 
laugh  in  his  sleeve. 

Major  Pendennis  was  appeased  instantly,  and  very 
much  pleased.  He  tapped  affectionately  his  nephew's 
arm  on  which  he  was  leaning,  and  said,—  '  You,  sir,  you 
are  my  flesh  and  blood!  Hang  it,  sir,  I've  been  very 
proud  of  you  and  very  fond  of  you,  but  for  your  con- 
founded follies  and  extravagances — and  wild  oats,  sir, 
which  I  hope,  you've  sown.  Yes,  begad !  I  hope  you've 
sown  'em;  I  hope  you've  sown  'em,  begad!  My  object, 
Arthur,  is  to  make  a  man  of  you — to  see  you  well  placed 
in  the  world,  as  becomes  one  of  your  name  and  my  own, 
sir.  You  have  got  yourself  a  little  reputation  by  your 
literary  talents,  which  I  am  very  far  from  undervaluing, 
though  in  my  time,  begad,  poetry  and  genius  and  that 
sort  of  thing  were  devilish  disreputable.  There  was  poor 
Byron,  for  instance,  who  ruined  himself,  and  contracted 
the  worst  habits  by  living  with  poets  and  newspaper- 
writers,  and  people  of  that  kind.  But  the  times  are 
changed  now — there's  a  run  upon  literature — clever  fel- 
lows get  into  the  best  houses  in  town,  begad!  Tempora 
mutantur,  sir,  and,  by  Jove,  I  suppose  whatever  is  is 
right,  as  Shakspeare  says." 

Pen  did  not  think  fit  to  tell  his  uncle  who  was  the 


588  PENDENNIS 

author  who  had  made  use  of  that  remarkable  phrase,  and 
here  descending  from  the  Green  Park,  the  pair  made 
their  way  into  Grosvenor  Place,  and  to  the  door  of  the 
mansion  occupied  there  by  Sir  Francis  and  Lady  Clav- 
ering. 

The  dining-room  shutters  of  this  handsome  mansion 
were  freshly  gilded;  the  knockers  shone  gorgeous  upon 
the  newly-painted  door ;  the  balcony  before  the  drawing- 
room  bloomed  with  a  portable  garden  of  the  most  beau- 
tiful plants,  and  with  flowers,  white,  and  pink,  and  scar- 
let ;  the  windows  of  the  upper  room  ( the  sacred  chamber 
and  dressing-room  of  my  lady,  doubtless),  and  even  a 
pretty  little  casement  of  the  third  story,  which  keen- 
sighted  Mr.  Pen  presumed  to  belong  to  the  virgin 
bedroom  of  Miss  Blanche  Amory,  were  similarly 
adorned  with  floral  ornaments,  and  the  whole  exterior 
face  of  the  house  presented  the  most  brilliant  aspect 
which  fresh  new  paint,  shining  plate  glass,  newly  cleaned 
bricks,  and  spotless  mortar,  could  offer  to  the  beholder. 

"  How  Strong  must  have  rejoiced  in  organising  all 
this  splendour,"  thought  Pen.  He  recognised  the 
Chevalier's  genius  in  the  magnificence  before  him. 

"  Lady  Clavering  is  going  out  for  her  drive,"  the 
Major  said.  "  We  shall  only  have  to  leave  our  paste- 
boards, Arthur."  He  used  the  word  "  pasteboards," 
having  heard  it  from  some  of  the  ingenious  youth  of  the 
nobility  about  town,  and  as  a  modern  phrase  suited  to 
Pen's  tender  years.  Indeed,  as  the  two  gentlemen 
reached  the  door,  a  landau  drove  up,  a  magnificent  yel- 
low carriage,  lined  with  brocade  or  satin  of  a  faint  cream 
colour,  drawn  by  wonderful  grey  horses,  with  flaming 
ribbons,  and  harness  blazing  all  over  with  crests:  no  less 
than  three  of  these  heraldic  emblems  surmounted  the 


PENDENNIS  589 

coats  of  arms  on  the  panels,  and  these  shields  contained 
a  prodigious  number  of  quarterings,  betokening  the  an- 
tiquity and  splendour  of  the  houses  of  Clavering  and 
Snell.  A  coachman  in  a  tight  silver  wig  surmounted 
the  magnificent  hammercloth  (whereon  the  same  arms 
were  worked  in  bullion),  and  controlled  the  prancing 
greys — a  young  man  still,  but  of  a  solemn  countenance, 
with  a  laced  waistcoat  and  buckles  in  his  shoes — little 
buckles,  unlike  those  which  John  and  Jeames,  the  foot- 
men, wear,  and  which  we  know  are  large,  and  spread  ele- 
gantly over  the  foot. 

One  of  the  leaves  of  the  hall  door  was  opened,  and 
John— one  of  the  largest  of  his  race— was  leaning 
against  the  door  pillar,  with  his  ambrosial  hair  pow- 
dered, his  legs  crossed ;  Leautif  ul,  silk-stockinged ;  in  his 
hand  his  cane,  gold-headed,  dolichoskion.  Jeames  was 
invisible,  but  near  at  hand,  waiting  in  the  hall,  with  the 
gentleman  who  does  not  wear  livery,  and  ready  to  fling 
down  the  roll  of  hair-cloth  over  which  her  ladyship  was 
to  step  to  her  carriage.  These  things  and  men,  the 
which  to  tell  of  demands  time,  are  seen  in  the  glance  of 
a  practised  eye:  and,  in  fact,  the  Major  and  Pen  had 
scarcely  crossed  the  street,  when  the  second  battant  of 
the  door  flew  open ;  the  horse-hair  carpet  tumbled  down 
the  door-steps  to  those  of  the  carriage;  John  was  open- 
ing it  on  one  side  of  the  emblazoned  door,  and  Jeames 
on  the  other,  and  two  ladies,  attired  in  the  highest  style 
of  fashion,  and  accompanied  by  a  third,  who  carried  a 
Blenheim  spaniel,  yelping  in  a  light  blue  ribbon,  came 
forth  to  ascend  the  carriage. 

Miss  Amory  was  the  first  to  enter,  which  she  did  with 
aerial  lightness,  and  took  the  place  which  she  liked  best. 
Lady  Clavering  next  followed,  but  her  ladyship  was 


590  PENDENNIS 

more  mature  of  age  and  heavy  of  foot,  and  one  of  those 
feet,  attired  in  a  green  satin  boot,  with  some  part  of  a 
stocking,  which  was  very  fine,  whatever  the  ankle  might 
be  which  it  encircled,  might  be  seen  swaying  on  the  car- 
riage-step, as  her  ladyship  leaned  for  support  on  the  arm 
of  the  unbending  Jeames,  by  the  enraptured  observer  of 
female  beauty  who  happened  to  be  passing  at  the  time 
of  this  imposing  ceremonial. 

The  Pendennises  senior  and  junior  beheld  those 
charms  as  they  came  up  to  the  door— the  Major  looking 
grave  and  courtly,  and  Pen  somewhat  abashed  at  the 
carriage  and  its  owners;  for  he  thought  of  sundry  little 
passages  at  Clavering,  which  made  his  heart  beat  rather 
quick. 

At  that  moment  Lady  Clavering,  looking  round,  saw 
the  pair — she  was  on  the  first  carriage-step,  and  would 
have  been  in  the  vehicle  in  another  second,  but  she  gave 
a  start  backwards  (which  caused  some  of  the  powder 
to  fly  from  the  hair  of  ambrosial  Jeames),  and  crying 
out,  "  Lor',  if  it  isn't  Arthur  Pendennis  and  the  old  Ma- 
jor I  "  jumped  back  to  terra  firma  directly,  and  holding 
out  two  fat  hands,  encased  in  tight  orange-coloured 
gloves,  the  good-natured  woman  warmly  greeted  the 
Major  and  his  nephew. 

"  Come  in,  both  of  you. — Why  haven't  you  been  be- 
fore?— Get  out,  Blanche,  and  come  and  see  your  old 
friends. — O,  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you.  We've  been  waitin' 
and  waitin'  for  you  ever  so  long.  Come  in,  luncheon 
ain't  gone  down,"  cried  out  this  hospitable  lady,  squeez- 
ing Pen's  hand  in  both  hers  (she  had  dropped  the  Ma- 
jor's after  a  brief  wrench  of  recognition),  and  Blanche, 
casting  up  her  eyes  towards  the  chimneys,  descended 
from  the  carriage  presently,  with  a  timid,  blushing,  ap- 


PENDENNIS  591 

pealing  look,  and  gave  a  little  hand  to  Major  Pen- 
dennis. 

The  companion  with  the  spaniel  looked  about  irreso- 
lute, and  doubting  whether  she  should  not  take  Fido  his 
airing;  but  she  too  turned  right  about  face  and  entered 
the  house,  after  Lady  Clavering,  her  daughter,  and  the 
two  gentlemen.  And  the  carriage,  with  the  prancing 
greys,  was  left  unoccupied,  save  by  the  coachman  in  the 
silver  wig. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 


IN  WHICH  THE  SYLPH  REAPPEARS 

ETTER  folks  than  Mor- 
gan, the  valet,  were 
not  so  well  in- 
structed as  that 
gentleman,  regard- 
ing the  amount  of 
Lady  Clavering's 
riches;  and  the  le- 
gend in  London  up- 
on her  Ladyship's 
arrival  in  the  po- 
lite metropolis,  was, 
that  her  fortune 
was  enormous.  In- 
digo factories,  opi- 
um clippers,  hanks 
overflowing  with  rupees,  diamonds  and  jewels  of  native 
princes,  and  vast  sums  of  interest  paid  by  them  for  loans 
contracted  by  themselves  or  their  predecessors  to  Lady 
Clavering's  father,  were  mentioned  as  sources  of  her 
wealth.  Her  account  at  her  London  banker's  was  posi- 
tively known,  and  the  sum  embraced  so  many  cyphers 
as  to  create  as  many  O's  of  admiration  in  the  wondering 
hearer.  It  was  a  known  fact  that  an  envoy  from  an  In- 
dian Prince,  a  Colonel  Altamont,  the  Nawaub  of  Luck- 
now's  prime  favourite,  an  extraordinary  man,  who  had, 

592 


PENDENNIS  593 

it  was  said,  embraced  Mahometanism,  and  undergone 
a  thousand  wild  and  perilous  adventures,  was  at  present 
in  this  country,  trying  to  negotiate  with  the  Begum 
Clavering,  the  sale  of  the  Nawaub's  celebrated  nose- 
ring diamond,  "  the  light  of  the  Dewan." 

Under  the  title  of  the  Begum,  Lady  Clavering's  fame 
began  to  spread  in  London  before  she  herself  descended 
upon  the  Capital,  and  as  it  has  been  the  boast  of  De- 
lolme,  and  Blackstone,  and  all  panegyrists  of  the 'British 
Constitution,  that  we  admit  into  our  aristocracy  merit  of 
every  kind,  and  that  the  lowliest-born  man,  if  he  but 
deserve  it,  may  wear  the  robes  of  a  peer,  and  sit  along- 
side of  a  Cavendish  or  a  Stanley:  so  it  ought  to  be  the 
boast  of  our  good  society,  that  haughty  though  it  be, 
naturally  jealous  of  its  privileges,  and  careful  who  shall 
be  admitted  into  its  circle,  yet,  if  an  individual  be  but 
rich  enough,  all  barriers  are  instantly  removed,  and  he 
or  she  is  welcomed,  as  from  his  wealth  he  merits  to  be. 
This  fact  shows  our  British  independence  and  honest 
feeling — our  higher  orders  are  not  such  mere  haughty 
aristocrats  as  the  ignorant  represent  them:  on  the  con- 
trary, if  a  man  have  money  they  will  hold  out  their  hands 
to  him,  eat  his  dinners,  dance  at  his  balls,  marry  his 
daughters,  or  give  their  own  lovely  girls  to  his  sons,  as 
affably  as  your  commonest  roturier  would  do. 

As  he  had  superintended  the  arrangements  of  the 
country  mansion,  our  friend,  the  Chevalier  Strong,  gave 
the  benefit  of  his  taste  and  advice  to  the  fashionable  Lon- 
don upholsterers,  who  prepared  the  town  house  for  the 
reception  of  the  Clavering  family.  In  the  decoration 
of  this  elegant  abode,  honest  Strong's  soul  rejoiced  as 
much  as  if  he  had  been  himself  its  proprietor.  He  hung 
and  re-hung  the  pictures,  he  studied  the  positions  of 


594  PENDENNIS 

sofas,  he  had  interviews  with  wine  merchants  and  pur- 
veyors who  were  to  supply  the  new  establishment;  and 
at  the  same  time  the  Baronet's  factotum  and  confidential 
friend  took  the  opportunity  of  furnishing  his  own  cham- 
bers, and  stocking  his  snug  little  cellar:  his  friends  com- 
plimented him  upon  the  neatness  of  the  former;  and  the 
select  guests  who  came  in  to  share  Strong's  cutlet  now 
found  a  bottle  of  excellent  claret  to  accompany  the  meal. 
The  Chevalier  was  now,  as  he  said,  "  in  clover:  "  he  had 
a  very  comfortable  set  of  rooms  in  Shepherd's  Inn.  He 
was  waited  on  by  a  former  Spanish  Legionary  and  com- 
rade of  his  whom  he  had  left  at  a  breach  of  a  Spanish 
fort,  and  found  at  a  crossing  in  Tottenham-court  Road, 
and  whom  he  had  elevated  to  the  rank  of  body-servant  to 
himself  and  to  the  chum  who,  at  present,  shared  his  lodg- 
ings. This  was  no  other  than  the  favourite  of  the  Na- 
waub  of  Lucknow,  the  valiant  Colonel  Altamont. 

No  man  was  less  curious,  or  at  any  rate,  more  discreet, 
than  Xed  Strong,  and  he  did  not  care  to  enquire  into 
the  mysterious  connection  which,  very  soon  after  their 
first  meeting  at  Baymouth,  was  established  between  Sir 
Francis  Clavering  and  the  envoy  of  the  Nawaub.  The 
latter  knew  some  secret  regarding  the  former,  which  put 
Clavering  into  his  power,  somehow;  and  Strong,  who 
knew  that  his  patron's  early  life  had  been  rather  irregu- 
lar, and  that  his  career  with  his  regiment  in  India  had 
not  been  brilliant,  supposed  that  the  Colonel,  who  swore 
he  knew  Clavering  well  at  Calcutta,  had  some  hold  upon 
Sir  Francis,  to  which  the  latter  was  forced  to  yield.  In 
truth,  Strong  had  long  understood  Sir  Francis  Claver- 
ing's  character,  as  that  of  a  man  utterly  weak  in  purpose, 
in  principle,  and  intellect,  a  moral  and  physical  trifler 
and  poltroon. 


PENDENNIS  595 

With  poor  Clavering,  his  Excellency  had  had  one  or 
two  interviews  after  their  Bay  mouth  meeting,  the  na- 
ture of  which  conversations  the  Baronet  did  not  confide 
to  Strong:  although  he  sent  letters  to  Altamont  by  that 
gentleman,  who  was  his  ambassador  in  all  sorts  of  af- 
fairs. On  one  of  these  occasions  the  Nawaub's  envoy 
must  have  been  in  an  exceeding  ill-humour;  for  he 
crushed  Clavering's  letter  in  his  hand,  and  said  with  his 
own  particular  manner  and  emphasis:— 

"  A  hundred  be  hanged.  I'll  have  no  more  letters  nor 
no  more  shilly-shally.  Tell  Clavering  I'll  have  a  thou- 
sand, or  by  Jove  I'll  split,  and  burst  him  all  to  atoms. 
Let  him  give  me  a  thousand  and  I'll  go  abroad,  and  I 
give  you  my  honour  as  a  gentleman,  I'll  not  ask  him  for 
no  more  for  a  year.  Give  him  that  message  from  me, 
Strong,  my  boy;  and  tell  him  if  the  money  ain't  here 
next  Friday  at  12  o'clock,  as  sure  as  my  name's  what  it 
is,  I'll  have  a  paragraph  in  the  newspaper  on  Saturday, 
and  next  week  I'll  blow  up  the  whole  concern." 

Strong  carried  back  these  words  to  his  principal,  on 
whom  their  effect  was  such  that  actually  on  the  day  and 
hour  appointed,  the  Chevalier  made  his  appearance  once 
more  at  Altamont's  hotel  at  Baymouth,  with  the  sum  of 
money  required.  Altamont  was  a  gentleman,  he  said, 
and  behaved  as  such ;  he  paid  his  bill  at  the  Inn,  and  the 
Baymouth  paper  announced  his  departure  on  a  foreign 
tour.  Strong  saw  him  embark  at  Dover.  "  It  must  be 
forgery  at  the  very  least,"  he  thought,  "  that  has  put 
Clavering  into  this  fellow's  power,  and  the  Colonel  has 
got  the  bill." 

Before  the  year  was  out,  however,  this  happy  country 
saw  the  Colonel  once  more  upon  its  shores.  A  con- 
founded run  on  the  red  had  finished  him,  he  said,  at 


596  PENDENNIS 

Baden  Baden:  no  gentleman  could  stand  against  a  col- 
our coming  up  fourteen  times.  He  had  been  obliged  to 
draw  upon  Sir  Francis  Clavering  for  means  of  return- 
ing home:  and  Clavering,  though  pressed  for  money 
(for  he  had  election  expenses,  had  set  up  his  establish- 
ment in  the  country,  and  was  engaged  in  furnishing  his 
London  house),  yet  found  means  to  accept  Colonel  Al- 
tamont's  bill,  though  evidently  very  much  against  his 
will;  for  in  Strong's  hearing,  Sir  Francis  wished  to 
heaven,  with  many  curses,  that  the  Colonel  could  have 
been  locked  up  in  a  debtor's  gaol  in  Germany  for  life,  so 
that  he  might  never  be  troubled  again. 

These  sums  for  the  Colonel  Sir  Francis  was  obliged  to 
raise  without  the  knowledge  of  his  wife ;  for  though  per- 
fectly liberal,  nay,  sumptuous  in  her  expenditure,  the 
good  lady  had  inherited  a  tolerable  aptitude  for  business 
along  with  the  large  fortune  of  her  father,  Snell,  and 
gave  to  her  husband  only  such  a  handsome  allowance  as 
she  thought  befitted  a  gentleman  of  his  rank.  Now  and 
again  she  would  give  him  a  present,  or  pay  an  outstand- 
ing gambling  debt;  but  she  always  exacted  a  pretty  ac- 
curate account  of  the  moneys  so  required;  and  respect- 
ing the  subsidies  to  the  Colonel,  Clavering  fairly  told 
Strong  that  he  couldn't  speak  to  his  wife. 

Part  of  Mr.  Strong's  business  in  life  was  to  procure 
this  money  and  other  sums,  for  his  patron.  And  in  the 
Chevalier's  apartments,  in  Shepherd's  Inn,  many  nego- 
tiations took  place  between  gentlemen  of  the  moneyed 
world  and  Sir  Francis  Clavering;  and  many  valuable 
bank-notes  and  pieces  of  stamped  paper  were  passed 
between  them.  When  a  man  has  been  in  the  habit  of 
getting  in  debt  from  his  early  youth,  and  of  exchanging 
his  promises  to  pay  at  twelve  months  against  present 


PENDENNIS  597 

sums  of  money,  it  would  seem  as  if  no  piece  of  good  for- 
tune ever  permanently  benefited  him :  a  little  while  after 
the  advent  of  prosperity,  the  money-lender  is  pretty 
certain  to  be  in  the  house  again,  and  the  bills  with  the  old 
signature  in  the  market.  Clavering  found  it  more  con- 
venient to  see  these  gentry  at  Strong's  lodgings  than  at 
his  own ;  and  such  was  the  Chevalier's  friendship  for  the 
Baronet,  that  although  he  did  not  possess  a  shilling  of 
his  own,  his  name  might  be  seen  as  the  drawer  of  almost 
all  the  bills  of  exchange  which  Sir  Francis  Clavering  ac- 
cepted. Having  drawn  Clavering's  bills,  he  got  them 
discounted  "  in  the  City."  When  they  became  due  he 
parleyed  with  the  bill-holders,  and  gave  them  instal- 
ments of  their  debt,  or  got  time  in  exchange  for  fresh 
acceptances.  Regularly  or  irregularly,  gentlemen  must 
live  somehow :  and  as  we  read  how,  the  other  day,  at  Co- 
morn,  the  troops  forming  that  garrison  were  gay  and 
lively,  acted  plays,  danced  at  balls,  and  consumed  their 
rations;  though  menaced  with  an  assault  from  the 
enemy  without  the  walls,  and  with  a  gallows  if  the  Aus- 
trians  were  successful. — so  there  are  hundreds  of  gallant 
spirits  in  this  town,  walking  about  in  good  spirits,  din- 
ing very  day  in  tolerable  gaiety  and  plenty,  and  going  to 
sleep  comfortably;  with  a  bailiff  always  more  or  less 
near,  and  a  rope  of  debt  round  their  necks — the  which 
trifling  inconveniences,  Ned  Strong,  the  old  soldier,  bore 
very  easily. 

But  we  shall  have  another  opportunity  of  making  ac- 
quaintance with  these  and  some  other  interesting  inhabi- 
tants of  Shepherd's  Inn,  and  in  the  meanwhile  are  keep- 
ing Lady  Clavering  and  her  friends  too  long  waiting 
on  the  door  steps  of  Grosvenor  Place. 

First  they  went  into  the  gorgeous  dining-room,  fitted 


598  PENDENNIS 

up,  Lady  Clavering  couldn't  for  goodness  gracious  tell 
why,  in  the  middle-aged  style,  "  unless,"  said  her  good- 
natured  ladyship,  laughing,  "  because  me  and  Clavering 
are  middle-aged  people; " — and  here  they  were  offered 
the  copious  remains  of  the  luncheon  of  which  Lady  Clav- 
ering and  Blanche  had  just  partaken.  When  nobody 
was  near,  our  little  Sylphide,  who  scarcely  ate  at  din- 
ner more  than  the  six  grains  of  rice  of  Amina,  the  friend 
of  the  Ghouls  in  the  Arabian  Nights,  was  most  active 
with  her  knife  and  fork,  and  consumed  a  very  substan- 
tial portion  of  mutton  cutlets:  in  which  piece  of  hypoc- 
risy it  is  believed  she  resembled  other  young  ladies  of 
fashion.  Pen  and  his  uncle  declined  the  refection,  but 
they  admired  the  dining-room  with  fitting  compliments, 
and  pronounced  it  "  very  chaste,"  that  being  the  proper 
phrase.  There  were,  indeed,  high-backed  Dutch  chairs 
of  the  seventeenth  century;  there  was  a  sculptured 
carved  buffet  of  the  sixteenth;  there  was  a  sideboard 
robbed  out  of  the  carved  work  of  a  church  in  the  Low 
Countries,  and  a  large  brass  cathedral  lamp  over  the 
round  oak  table;  there  were  old  family  portraits  from 
Wardour  Street,  and  tapestry  from  France,  bits  of  ar- 
mour, double-handed  swords  and  battle-axes  made  of 
carton-pierre,  looking-glasses,  statuettes  of  saints,  and 
Dresden  china — nothing,  in  a  word,  could  be  chaster. 
Behind  the  dining-room  was  the  library,  fitted  with 
busts  and  books  all  of  a  size,  and  wonderful  easy  chairs, 
and  solemn  bronzes  in  the  severe  classic  style.  Here  it 
was  that,  guarded  by  double  doors,  Sir  Francis  smoked 
cigars,  and  read  "  Bell's  Life  in  London,"  and  went  to 
sleep  after  dinner,  when  he  was  not  smoking  over  the 
billiard-table  at  his  clubs,  or  punting  at  the  gambling- 
houses  in  Saint  James's. 


PENDENNIS  599 

But  what  could  equal  the  chaste  splendour  of  the 
drawing-rooms? — the  carpets  were  so  magnificently 
fluffy  that  your  foot  made  no  more  noise  on  them  than 
your  shadow:  on  their  white  ground  bloomed  roses  and 
tulips  as  big  as  warming-pans :  about  the  room  were  high 
chairs  and  low  chairs,  bandy-legged  chairs,  chairs  so  at- 
tenuated that  it  was  a  wonder  any  but  a  sylph  could  sit 
upon  them,  marqueterie-tables  covered  with  marvellous 
gimcracks,  china  ornaments  of  all  ages  and  countries, 
bronzes,  gilt  daggers,  Books  of  Beauty,  yataghans, 
Turkish  papooshes  and  boxes  of  Parisian  bonbons. 
Wherever  you  sate  down  there  were  Dresden  shepherds 
and  shepherdesses  convenient  at  your  elbow;  there  were 
moreover,  light  blue  poodles  and  ducks  and  cocks  and 
hens  in  porcelain;  there  were  nymphs  by  Boucher,  and 
shepherdesses  by  Greuze,  very  chaste  indeed ;  there  were 
muslin  curtains  and  brocade  curtains,  gilt  cages  with 
parroquets  and  love  birds,  two  squealing  cockatoos,  each 
out-squealing  and  out-chattering  the  other ;  a  clock  sing- 
ing tunes  on  a  console-table,  and  another  booming  the 
hours  like  Great  Tom,  on  the  mantel-piece — there  was, 
in  a  word,  everything  that  comfort  could  desire,  and  the 
most  elegant  taste  devise.  A  London  drawing-room, 
fitted  up  without  regard  to  expense,  is  surely  one  of  the 
noblest  and  most  curious  sights  of  the  present  day.  The 
Romans  of  the  Lower  Empire,  the  dear  Marchionesses 
and  Countesses  of  Louis  XV.,  could  scarcely  have  had 
a  finer  taste  than  our  modern  folks  exhibit;  and  every 
body  who  saw  Lady  Clavering's  reception-rooms,  was 
forced  to  confess  that  they  were  most  elegant ;  and  that 
the  prettiest  rooms  in  London — Lady  Harley  Quin's, 
Lady  Hanway  Wardour's,  or  Mrs.  Hodge-Podgson's 
own,  the  great  Railroad  Croesus'  wife,  were  not  fitted 
up  with  a  more  consummate  "  chastity." 


600  PENDENNIS 

Poor  Lady  Clavering,  meanwhile,  knew  little  regard- 
ing these  things,  and  had  a  sad  want  of  respect  for  the 
splendours  around  her.  "  I  only  know  they  cost  a  pre- 
cious deal  of  money,  Major,"  she  said  to  her  guest,  "  and 
that  I  don't  advise  you  to  try  one  of  them  gossamer  gilt 
chairs:  7  came  down  on  one  the  night  we  gave  our  sec- 
ond dinner  party.  Why  didn't  you  come  and  see  us 
before?  We'd  have  asked  you  to  it." 

'  You  would  have  liked  to  see  Mamma  break  a  chair, 
wouldn't  you,  Mr.  Pendennis?  "  dear  Blanche  said  with 
a  sneer.  She  was  angry  because  Pen  was  talking  and 
laughing  with  Mamma,  because  Mamma  had  made  a 
number  of  blunders  in  describing  the  house— for  a  hun- 
dred other  good  reasons. 

"  I  should  like  to  have  been  by  to  give  Lady  Clavering 
my  arm  if  she  had  need  of  it,"  Pen  answered,  with  a  bow 
and  a  blush. 

"  Quel  preux  Chevalier! "  cried  the  Sylphide,  tossing 
up  her  little  head. 

"  I  have  a  fellow-feeling  with  those  who  fall,  remem- 
ber," Pen  said.  "  I  suffered  myself  very  much  from 
doing  so  once." 

"  And  you  went  home  to  Laura  to  console  you,"  said 
Miss  Amory.  Pen  winced.  He  did  not  like  the  remem- 
brance of  the  consolation  which  Laura  had  given  to  him, 
nor  was  he  very  well  pleased  to  find  that  his  rebuff  in 
that  quarter  was  known  to  the  world:  so  as  he  had  no- 
thing to  say  in  reply,  he  began  to  be  immensely  inter- 
ested in  the  furniture  round  about  him,  and  to  praise 
Lady  Clavering's  taste  with  all  his  might. 

"  Me,  don't  praise  me,"  said  honest  Lady  Clavering, 
"  it's  all  the  upholsterer's  doings  and  Captain  Strong's ; 
they  did  it  all  while  we  was  at  the  Park— and— and— 
Lady  Rockminster  has  been  here  and  says  the  salongs 


PENDENNIS  601 

are  very  well,"  said  Lady  Clavering,  with  an  air  and 
tone  of  great  deference. 

"  My  cousin  Laura  has  been  staying  with  her,'*  Pen 
said. 

"  It's  not  the  dowager:  it  is  the  Lady  Rockminster." 

"Indeed!"  cried  Major  Pendennis,  when  he  heard 
this  great  name  of  fashion.  "  If  you  have  her  ladyship's 
approval,  Lady  Clavering,  you  cannot  be  far  wrong. 
No,  no,  you  cannot  be  far  wrong.  Lady  Rockminster, 
I  should  say,  Arthur,  is  the  very  centre  of  the  circle  of 
fashion  and  taste.  The  rooms  are  beautiful  indeed ! " 
and  the  Major's  voice  hushed  as  he  spoke  of  this  great 
lady,  and  he  looked  round  and  surveyed  the  apartments 
awfully  and  respectfully,  as  if  he  had  been  at  church. 

"  Yes,  Lady  Rockminster  has  took  us  up,"  said  Lady 
Clavering. 

"  Taken  us  up,  Mamma,"  cried  Blanche,  in  a  shrill 
voice. 

"  Well,  taken  us  up,  then,"  said  my  lady,  "  it's  very 
kind  of  her,  and  I  dare  say  we  shall  like  it  when  we  git 
used  to  it,  only  at  first  one  don't  fancy  being  took — well, 
taken  up,  at  all.  She  is  going  to  give  our  balls  for  us; 
and  wants  to  invite  all  our  diners.  But  I  won't  stand 
that.  I  will  have  my  old  friends  and  I  won't  let  her 
send  all  the  cards  out,  and  sit  mum  at  the  head  of  my 
own  table.  You  must  come  to  me,  Arthur  and  Major- 
come,  let  me  see,  on  the  14th.— It  ain't  one  of  our  grand 
dinners,  Blanche,"  she  said,  looking  round  at  her  daugh- 
ter, who  bit  her  lips  and  frowned  very  savagely  for  a 
sylphide. 

The  Major,  with  a  smile  and  a  bow,  said  he  would 
much  rather  come  to  a  quiet  meeting  than  to  a  grand 
dinner.  He  had  had  enough  of  those  large  enter- 


602  PENDENNIS 

tainments,  and  preferred  the  simplicity  of  the  home 
circle. 

"  I  always  think  a  dinner's  the  best  the  second  day," 
said  Lady  Clavering,  thinking  to  mend  her  first  speech. 
"On  the  14th  we'll  be  quite  a  snug  little  party;"  at 
which  second  blunder,  Miss  Blanche  clasped  her  hands 
in  despair,  and  said  "  O,  Mamma,  vous  etes  incorrigible" 
Major  Pendennis  vowed  that  he  liked  snug  dinners  of 
all  things  in  the  world,  and  confounded  her  ladyship's 
impudence  for  daring  to  ask  such  a  man  as  him  to  a  sec- 
ond day's  dinner.  But  he  was  a  man  of  an  economical 
turn  of  mind,  and  bethinking  himself  that  he  could 
throw  over  these  people  if  anything  better  should  offer, 
he  accepted  with  the  blandest  air.  As  for  Pen,  he  was 
not  a  diner-out  of  thirty  years'  standing  as  yet,  and  the 
idea  of  a  fine  feast  in  a  fine  house  was  still  perfectly 
welcome  to  him. 

'  What  was  that  pretty  little  quarrel  which  engaged 
itself  between  your  worship  and  Miss  Amory? "  the 
Major  asked  of  Pen,  as  they  walked  away  together.  "  I 
thought  you  used  to  be  au  mieux  in  that  quarter." 

;'  Used  to  be,"  answered  Pen,  with  a  dandified  air,  "  is 
a  vague  phrase  regarding  a  woman.  Was  and  is  are 
two  very  different  terms,  sir,  as  regards  women's  hearts 
especially." 

"  Egad,  they  change  as  we  do,"  cried  the  elder. 
'  When  we  took  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  I  recollect 
there  was  a  lady  who  talked  of  poisoning  herself  for 
your  humble  servant;  and,  begad,  in  three  months,  she 
ran  away  from  her  husband  with  somebody  else.  Don't 
get  yourself  entangled  with  that  Miss  Amory.  She  is 
forward,  affected,  and  underbred;  and  her  character  is 
somewhat— never  mind  what.  But  don't  think  of  her; 


PENDENNIS  603 

ten  thousand  pound  won't  do  for  you.  What,  my  good 
fellow,  is  ten  thousand  pound?  I  would  scarcely  pay 
that  girl's  milliner's  bill  with  the  interest  of  the  money." 
'  You  seem  to  be  a  connoisseur  in  millinery.  Uncle," 
Pen  said. 

"  I  was,  sir,  I  was,"  replied  the  senior;  "  and  the  old 
war-horse,  you  know,  never  hears  the  sound  of  a  trum- 
pet, but  he  begins  to  he,  he! — you  understand,"— and  he 
gave  a  killing  though  somewhat  superannuated  leer  and 
bow  to  a  carriage  that  passed  them  and  entered  the  Park. 

"  Lady  Catherine  Martingale's  carriage,"  he  said, 
"  mons'ous  fine  girls  the  daughters,  though,  gad,  I  re- 
member their  mother  a  thousand  times  handsomer.  No, 
Arthur,  my  dear  fellow,  with  your  person  and  expecta- 
tions, you  ought  to  make  a  good  coup  in  marriage  some 
day  or  other;  and  though  I  wouldn't  have  this  repeated 
at  Fairoaks,  you  rogue,  ha!  ha!  a  reputation  for  a  little 
wickedness,  and  for  being  an  homme  dangereux,  don't 
hurt  a  young  fellow  with  the  women.  They  like  it,  sir— 
they  hate  a  milksop  .  .  .  young  men  must  be  young 
men,  you  know.  But  for  marriage,"  continued  the 
veteran  moralist,  "  that  is  a  very  different  matter. 
Marry  a  woman  with  money.  I've  told  you  before  it  is 
as  easy  to  get  a  rich  wife  as  a  poor  one ;  and  a  doosed  deal 
more  comfortable  to  sit  down  to  a  well-cooked  dinner, 
with  your  little  entrees  nicely  served,  than  to  have  no- 
thing but  a  damned  cold  leg  of  mutton  between  you  and 
your  wife.  We  shall  have  a  good  dinner  on  the  1-itli, 
when  we  dine  with  Sir  Francis  Clavering :  stick  to  that, 
my  boy,  in  your  relations  with  the  family.  Cultivate 
'em,  but  keep  'em  for  dining.  No  more  of  your  youthful 
follies  and  nonsense  about  love  in  a  cottage." 

"  It  must  be  a  cottage  with  a  clouble  coach-house,  a 


604  PENDENNIS 

cottage  of  gentility,  sir,"  said  Pen,  quoting  the  hack- 
neyed ballad  of  the  Devil's  Walk:  but  his  uncle  did  not 
know  that  poem  (though,  perhaps,  he  might  be  leading 
Pen  upon  the  very  promenade  in  question) ,  and  went  on 
with  his  philosophical  remarks,  very  much  pleased  with 
the  aptness  of  the  pupil  to  whom  he  addressed  them. 
Indeed  Arthur  Pendennis  was  a  clever  fellow,  who  took 
his  colour  very  readily  from  his  neighbour  and  found 
the  adaptation  only  too  easy. 

Warrington,  the  grumbler,  growled  out  that  Pen  was 
becoming  such  a  puppy  that  soon  there  would  be  no 
bearing  him.  But  the  truth  is,  the  young  man's  success 
and  dashing  manners  pleased  his  elder  companion.  He 
liked  to  see  Pen  gay  and  spirited,  and  brimful  of  health, 
and  life,  and  hope ;  as  a  man  who  has  long  since  left  off 
being  amused  with  clown  and  harlequin,  still  gets  a 
pleasure  in  watching  a  child  at  a  pantomime.  Mr.  Pen's 
former  sulkiness  disappeared  with  his  better  fortune: 
and  he  bloomed  as  the  sun  began  to  shine  upon  him. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 


IN    WHICH   COLONEL   ALTAMONT  APPEARS   AND 
DISAPPEARS 

the  day  appointed, 
Major  Pendennis, 
who  had  formed 
no  better  engage- 
ment, and  Ar- 
thur, who  desir- 
ed none,  arrived 
together  to  dine 
with  Sir  Francis 
Clavering.  The 
only  tenants  of 
the  drawing- 
room  when  Pen 
and  his  uncle 
reached  it,  were 
Sir  Francis  and 
his  wife,  and  our 
friend  Captain 
Strong,  whom 
Arthur  was  very 
glad  to  see,  though  the  Major  looked  very  sulkily  at 
Strong,  being  by  no  means  well  pleased  to  sit  down  to 
dinner  with  Clavering's  d —  house-steward,  as  he  irrev- 
erently called  Strong.  But  Mr.  Welbore  Welbore, 
Clavering's  country  neighbour  and  brother  member  of 

605 


606  PENDENNIS 

Parliament,  speedily  arriving,  Pendennis  the  elder  was 
somewhat  appeased,  for  Welbore,  though  perfectly  dull, 
and  taking  no  more  part  in  the  conversation  at  dinner 
than  the  footman  behind  his  chair,  was  a  respectable 
country  gentleman  of  ancient  family  and  seven  thousand 
a  year;  and  the  Major  felt  always  at  ease  in  such  society. 
To  these  were  added  other  persons  of  note :  the  Dowager 
Lady  Rockminster,  who  had  her  reasons  for  being  well 
with  the  Clavering  family,  and  the  Lady  Agnes  Foker, 
with  her  son  Mr.  Harry,  our  old  acquaintance.  Mr. 
Pynsent  could  not  come,  his  parliamentary  duties  keep- 
ing him  at  the  House,  duties  which  sate  upon  the  two 
other  senators  very  lightly.  Miss  Blanche  Amory  was 
the  last  of  the  company  who  made  her  appearance. 
She  was  dressed  in  a  killing  white  silk  dress,  which  dis- 
played her  pearly  shoulders  to  the  utmost  advantage. 
Foker  whispered  to  Pen,  who  regarded  her  with  eyes  of 
evident  admiration,  that  he  considered  her  "  a  stunner." 
She  chose  to  be  very  gracious  to  Arthur  upon  this  day, 
and  held  out  her  hand  most  cordially,  and  talked  about 
dear  Fairoaks,  and  asked  for  dear  Laura  and  his  mother, 
and  said  she  was  longing  to  go  back  to  the  country,  and 
in  fact  was  entirely  simple,  affectionate,  and  artless. 

Harry  Foker  thought  he  had  never  seen  anybody  so 
amiable  and  delightful.  Not  accustomed  much  to  the 
society  of  ladies,  and  ordinarily  being  dumb  in  their 
presence,  he  found  that  he  could  speak  before  Miss 
Amory,  and  became  uncommonly  lively  and  talkative, 
even  before  the  dinner  was  announced  and  the  party 
descended  to  the  lower  rooms.  He  would  have  longed 
to  give  his  arm  to  the  fair  Blanche,  and  conduct  her 
down  the  broad  carpeted  stair ;  but  she  fell  to  the  lot  of 
Pen  upon  this  occasion,  Mr.  Foker  being  appointed  to 


PENDENNIS  607 

escort  Mrs.  Welbore  Welbore,  in  consequence  of  his  su- 
perior rank  as  an  earl's  grandson. 

But  though  he  was  separated  from  the  object  of  his 
desire  during  the  passage  down  stairs,  the  delighted 
Foker  found  himself  by  Miss  Amory's  side  at  the  din- 
ner-table, and  flattered  himself  that  he  had  manoeuvred 
very  well  in  securing  that  happy  place.  It  may  be  that 
the  move  was  not  his,  but  that  it  was  made  by  another 
person.  Blanche  had  thus  the  two  young  men,  one  on 
each  side  of  her,  and  each  tried  to  render  himself  gallant 
and  agreeable. 

Foker's  mamma,  from  her  place,  surveying  her  dar- 
ling boy,  was  surprised  at  his  vivacity.  Harry  talked 
constantly  to  his  fair  neighbour  about  the  topics  of 
the  day. 

"  Seen  Taglioni  in  the  Sylphide,  Miss  Amory?  Bring 
me  that  souprame  of  Volile  again,  if  you  please  (this 
was  addressed  to  the  attendant  near  him),  very  good: 
can't  think  where  the  souprames  come  from;  what  be- 
comes of  the  legs  of  the  fowls,  I  wonder?  She's  clip- 
ping in  the  Sylphide,  ain't  she? "  and  he  began  very 
kindly  to  hum  the  pretty  air  which  pervades  that  pret- 
tiest of  all  ballets,  now  faded  into  the  past  with  that  most 
beautiful  and  gracious  of  all  dancers.  Will  the  young 
folks  ever  see  anything  so  charming,  anything  so  classic, 
anything  like  Taglioni? 

"  Miss  Amory  is  a  sylph  herself,"  said  Mr.  Pen. 

"What  a  delightful  tenor  voice  you  have,  Mr.  Foker," 
said  the  young  lady.  "  I  am  sure  you  have  been  well 
taught.  I  sing  a  little  myself.  I  should  like  to  sing  with 
you." 

Pen  remembered  that  words  very  similar  had  been  ad- 
dressed to  himself  by  the  young  lady,  and  that  she  had 


G08  PENDENNIS 

liked  to  sing  with  him  in  former  days.  And  sneering 
within  himself,  he  wondered  with  how  many  other  gen- 
tlemen she  had  sung  duets  since  his  time?  But  he  did 
not  think  fit  to  put  this  awkward  question  aloud:  and 
only  said,  with  the  very  tenderest  air  which  he  could  as- 
sume, "  I  should  like  to  hear  you  sing  again,  Miss 
Blanche.  I  never  heard  a  voice  I  liked  so  well  as  yours, 
I  think." 

"  I  thought  you  liked  Laura's,"  said  Miss  Blanche. 

"  Laura's  is  a  contralto:  and  that  voice  is  very  often 
out,  you  know,"  Pen  said,  bitterly.  "  I  have  heard  a 
great  deal  of  music,  in  London,"  he  continued.  '  I'm 
tired  of  those  professional  people — they  sing  too  loud— 
or  I  have  grown  too  old  or  too  blase.  One  grows  old 
very  soon,  in  London,  Miss  Amory.  And  like  all  old 
fellows,  I  only  care  for  the  songs  I  heard  in  my  youth." 

"  I  like  English  music  best.  I  don't  care  for  foreign 
songs  much.  Get  me  some  saddle  of  mutton,"  said  Mr. 
Foker. 

"  I  adore  English  ballads  of  all  things,"  said  Miss 
Amory. 

"  Sing  me  one  of  the  old  songs  after  dinner,  will 
you?"  said  Pen,  with  an  imploring  voice. 

"  Shall  I  sing  you  an  English  song,  after  dinner?  " 
asked  the  Sylphide,  turning  to  Mr.  Foker.  "  I  will,  if 
you  will  promise  to  come  up  soon :  "  and  she  gave  him  a 
perfect  broadside  of  her  eyes. 

"  Fit  come  up  after  dinner,  fast  enough,"  he  said  sim- 
ply. "  I  don't  care  about  much  wine  afterwards— I  take 
my  whack  at  dinner — I  mean  my  share,  you  know;  and 
when  I  have  had  as  much  as  I  want,  I  toddle  up  to  tea. 
I'm  a  domestic  character,  Miss  Amory— my  habits  are 
simple— and  when  I'm  pleased  I'm  generally  in  a  good 


PENDENNIS  60S 

humour,  ain't  I,  Pen? — that  jelly,  if  you  please— not 
that  one,  the  other  with  the  cherries  inside.  How  the 
doose  do  they  get  those  cherries  inside  the  jellies?  "  In 
this  way  the  artless  youth  prattled  on :  and  Miss  Amory 
listened  to  him  with  inexhaustible  good  humour.  When 
the  ladies  took  their  departure  for  the  upper  regions, 
Blanche  made  the  two  young  men  promise  faithfully  to 
quit  the  table  soon,  and  departed  with  kind  glances  to 
each.  She  dropped  her  gloves  on  Foker's  side  of  the 
table,  and  her  handkerchief  on  Pen's.  Each  had  some 
little  attention  paid  to  him ;  her  politeness  to  Mr.  Foker 
was  perhaps  a  little  more  encouraging  than  her  kindness 
to  Arthur :  but  the  benevolent  little  creature  did  her  best 
to  make  both  the  gentlemen  happy.  Foker  caught  her 
last  glance  as  she  rushed  out  of  the  door ;  that  bright  look 
passed  over  Mr.  Strong's  broad  white  waistcoat,  and  shot 
straight  at  Harry  Foker's.  The  door  closed  on  the 
charmer:  he  sate  down  with  a  sigh,  and  swallowed  a 
bumper  of  claret. 

As  the  dinner  at  which  Pen  and  his  uncle  took  their 
places  was  not  one  of  our  grand  parties,  it  had  been 
served  at  a  considerably  earlier  hour  than  those  ceremo- 
nial banquets  of  the  London  season,  which  custom  has 
ordained  shall  scarcely  take  place  before  nine  o'clock; 
and  the  company  being  small,  and  Miss  Blanche,  anx- 
ious to  betake  herself  to  her  piano  in  the  drawing-room, 
giving  constant  hints  to  her  mother  to  retreat, — Lady 
Clavering  made  that  signal  very  speedily,  so  that  it  was 
quite  daylight  yet  when  the  ladies  reached  the  upper 
apartments,  from  the  flower-embroidered  balconies  of 
which  they  could  command  a  view  of  the  two  Parks,  of 
the  poor  couples  and  children  still  sauntering  in  the  one, 


610  PENDENNIS 

and  of  the  equipages  of  ladies  and  the  horses  of  dandies 
passing  through  the  arch  of  the  other.  The  sun,  in  a 
word,  had  not  set  behind  the  elms  of  Kensington  Gar- 
dens, and  was  still  gilding  the  statue  erected  by  the  ladies 
of  England  in  honour  of  his  Grace  the  Duke  of  Wel- 
lington, when  Lady  Clavering  and  her  female  friends 
left  the  gentlemen  drinking  wine. 

The  windows  of  the  dining-room  were  opened  to  let 
in  the  fresh  air,  and  afforded  to  the  passers-by  in  the 
street  a  pleasant  or,  perhaps,  tantalising  view  of  six  gen- 
tlemen in  white  waistcoats,  with  a  quantity  of  decanters 
and  a  variety  of  fruits  before  them— little  boys,  as  they 
passed  and  jumped  up  at  the  area  railings,  and  took  a 
peep,  said  to  one  another,  "  Mi  hi,  Jim,  shouldn't  you 
like  to  be  there,  and  have  a  cut  of  that  there  pine- 
apple? " — the  horses  and  carriages  of  the  nobility  and 
gentry  passed  by,  conveying  them  to  Belgravian  toilets : 
the  policeman,  with  clamping  feet,  patrolled  up  and 
down  before  the  mansion:  the  shades  of  evening  began 
to  fall:  the  gasman  came  and  lighted  the  lamps  before 
Sir  Francis's  door:  the  butler  entered  the  dining-room, 
and  illuminated  the  antique  Gothic  chandelier  over  the 
antique  carved  oak  dining-table :  so  that  from  outside 
the  house  you  looked  inwards  upon  a  night  scene  of 
feasting  and  wax  candles;  and  from  within  you  beheld 
a  vision  of  a  calm  summer  evening,  and  the  wall  of  Saint 
James's  Park,  and  the  sky  above,  in  which  a  star  or  two 
was  just  beginning  to  twinkle. 

Jeames,  with  folded  legs,  leaning  against  the  door- 
pillar  of  his  master's  abode,  looked  forth  musingly  upon 
the  latter  tranquil  sight:  whilst  a  spectator,  clinging  to 
the  railings,  examined  the  former  scene.  Policeman 
X,  passing,  gave  his  attention  to  neither,  but  fixed  it 


PENDENNIS  611 

upon  the  individual  holding  by  the  railings,  and  gazing 
into  Sir  Francis  Clavering's  dining-room,  where  Strong 
was  laughing  and  talking  away,  making  the  conversa- 
tion for  the  party. 

The  man  at  the  railings  was  very  gorgeously  attired 
with  chains,  jewellery,  and  waistcoats,  which  the  illu- 
mination from  the  house  lighted  up  to  great  advantage ; 
his  boots  were  shiny ;  he  had  brass  buttons  to  his  coat,  and 
large  white  wristbands  over  his  knuckles;  and  indeed 
looked  so  grand,  that  X  imagined  he  beheld  a  member  of 
parliament,  or  a  person  of  consideration  before  him. 
Whatever  his  rank,  however,  the  M.P.,  or  person  of  con- 
sideration, was  considerably  excited  by  wine;  for  he 
lurched  and  reeled  somewhat  in  his  gait,  and  his  hat  was 
cocked  over  his  wild  and  blood-shot  eyes  in  a  manner 
which  no  sober  hat  ever  could  assume.  His  copious  black 
hair  was  evidently  surreptitious,  and  his  whiskers  of  the 
Tyrian  purple. 

As  Strong's  laughter,  following  after  one  of  his  own 
gros  mots,  came  ringing  out  of  window,  this  gentleman 
without  laughed  and  sniggered  in  the  queerest  way  like- 
wise, and  he  slapped  his  thigh  and  winked  at  Jeames 
pensive  in  the  portico,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Plush,  my 
boy,  isn't  that  a  good  story?  " 

Jeames's  attention  had  been  gradually  drawn  from 
the  moon  in  the  heavens  to  this  sublunary  scene ;  and  he 
was  puzzled  and  alarmed  by  the  appearance  of  the  man 
in  shiny  boots.  "  A  holtercation,"  he  remarked,  after- 
wards, in  the  servants'-hall— a  "  holtercation  with  a  fel- 
ler in  the  streets  is  never  no  good;  and  indeed,  he  was 
not  hired  for  any  such  purpose."  So,  having  surveyed 
the  man  for  some  time,  who  went  on  laughing,  reeling, 
nodding  his  head  with  tipsy  knowingness,  Jeames 


612  PENDENNIS 

looked  out  of  the  portico,  and  softly  called  "  Pleace- 
man,"  and  beckoned  to  that  officer. 

X  marched  up  resolute,  with  one  Berlin  glove  stuck 
in  his  beltside,  and  Jeames  simply  pointed  with  his  in- 
dex finger  to  the  individual  who  was  laughing  against 
the  railings.  Not  one  single  word  more  than  "  Pleace- 
man,"  did  he  say,  but  stood  there  in  the  calm  summer 
evening,  pointing  calmly :  a  grand  sight. 

X  advanced  to  the  individual  and  said,  "  Now,  sir,  will 
you  have  the  kindness  to  move  hon?  " 

The  individual,  who  was  in  perfect  good  humour,  did 
not  appear  to  hear  one  word  which  Policeman  X  uttered, 
but  nodded  and  waggled  his  grinning  head  at  Strong, 
until  his  hat  almost  fell  from  his  head  over  the  area  rail- 
ings. 

"  Now,  sir,  move  on,  do  you  hear?  "  cries  X,  in  a  much 
more  peremptory  tone,  and  he  touched  the  stranger 
gently  with  one  of  the  fingers  inclosed  in  the  gauntlets 
of  the  Berlin  woof. 

He  of  the  many  rings  instantly  started,  or  rather 
staggered  back,  into  what  is  called  an  attitude  of  self- 
defence,  and  in  that  position  began  the  operation  which 
is  entitled  "  squaring,"  at  Policeman  X,  and  showed 
himself  brave  and  warlike,  if  unsteady.  "  Hullo!  keep 
your  hands  off  a  gentleman,"  he  said,  with  an  oath  which 
need  not  be  repeated. 

"  Move  on  out  of  this,"  said  X,  "  and  don't  be  a  block- 
ing up  the  pavement,  staring  into  gentlemen's  dining- 
rooms." 

"  Not  stare — ho,  ho, — not  stare — that  is  a  good  one," 
replied  the  other,  with  a  satiric  laugh   and   sneer.— 
'  Who's  to  prevent  me  from  staring,  looking  at  my 
friends,  if  I  like?  not  you,  old  highlows." 


Colonel  Altamont  refuses 
to  move  on 


PENDENNIS  618 

"  Friends !  I  dessay.    Move  on,"  answered  X. 

"  If  you  touch  me,  I'll  pitch  into  you,  I  will,"  roared 
the  other.  "  I  tell  you  I  know  'em  all— That's  Sir  Fran- 
cis Clavering,  Baronet,  M.P. — I  know  him,  and  he 
knows  me— and  that's  Strong,  and  that's  the  young  chap 
that  made  the  row  at  the  ball.  I  say,  Strong,  Strong!  " 

"  It's  that  d Altamont,"  cried  Sir  Francis  within, 

with  a  start  and  a  guilty  look;  and  Strong  also,  with  a 
look  of  annoyance,  got  up  from  the  table,  and  ran  out 
to  the  intruder. 

A  gentleman  in  a  white  waistcoat,  running  out  from 
a  dining-room  bare-headed,  a  policeman,  and  an  indi- 
vidual decently  attired,  engaged  in  almost  fistycuffs  on 
the  pavement,  were  enough  to  make  a  crowd,  even  in 
that  quiet  neighbourhood,  at  half -past  eight  o'clock  in 
the  evening,  and  a  small  mob  began  to  assemble  before 
Sir  Francis  Clavering's  door.  "  For  God's  sake,  come 
in,"  Strong  said,  seizing  his  acquaintance's  arm.  "  Send 
for  a  cab,  James,  if  you  please,"  he  added  in  an  under 
voice  to  that  domestic;  and  carrying  the  excited  gentle- 
man out  of  the  street,  the  outer  door  was  closed  upon 
him,  and  the  small  crowd  began  to  move  away. 

Mr.  Strong  had  intended  to  convey  the  stranger  into 
Sir  Francis's  private  sitting-room,  where  the  hats  of  the 
male  guests  were  awaiting  them,  and  having  there 
soothed  his  friend  by  bland  conversation,  to  have  carried 
him  off  as  soon  as  the  cab  arrived — but  the  new  comer 
was  in  a  great  state  of  wrath  at  the  indignity  which  had 
been  put  upon  him;  and  when  Strong  would  have  led 
him  into  the  second  door,  said  in  a  tipsy  voice,  "  That 
ain't  the  door — that's  the  dining-room  door— where  the 
drink's  going  on— and  I'll  go  and  have  some,  by  Jove; 
I'll  go  and  have  some."  At  this  audacity  the  butler 


614  PENDENNIS 

stood  aghast  in  the  hall,  and  placed  himself  before  the 
door:  but  it  opened  behind  him,  and  the  master  of  the 
house  made  his  appearance,  with  anxious  looks. 

"  I  Ml  have  some, — by I  will,"  the  intruder  was 

roaring  out,  as  Sir  Francis  came  forward.  "  Hullo! 
Clavering,  I  say  I'm  come  to  have  some  wine  with  you; 
hay!  old  boy— hay,  old  corkscrew?  Get  us  a  bottle  of 
the  yellow  seal,  you  old  thief — the  very  best— a  hundred 
rupees  a  dozen,  and  no  mistake." 

The  host  reflected  a  moment  over  his  company. 
There  is  only  Welbore,  Pendennis,  and  those  two  lads, 
he  thought— and  with  a  forced  laugh  and  piteous  look, 
he  said, — "  Well,  Altamont,  come  in.  I  am  very  glad 
to  see  you,  I'm  sure." 

Colonel  Altamont,  for  the  intelligent  reader  has 
doubtless  long  ere  this  discovered  in  the  stranger  His 
Excellency  the  Ambassador  of  the  Nawaub  of  Luck- 
now,  reeled  into  the  dining-room,  with  a  triumphant 
look  towards  Jeames,  the  footman,  which  seemed  to  say, 
'  There,  sir,  what  do  you  think  of  that?  Now,  am  I  a 
gentleman  or  no? "  and  sank  down  into  the  first  vacant 
chair.  Sir  Francis  Clavering  timidly  stammered  out  the 
Colonel's  name  to  his  guest  Mr.  Welbore  Welbore,  and 
his  Excellency  began  drinking  wine  forthwith  and  gaz- 
ing round  upon  the  company,  now  with  the  most  won- 
derful frowns,  and  anon  with  the  blandest  smiles,  and 
hiccupped  remarks  encomiastic  of  the  drink  which  he 
was  imbibing. 

'  Very  singular  man.     Has  resided  long  in  a  native 

court  in  India,"  Strong  said,  with  great  gravity,  the 

Chevalier's  presence  of  mind  never  deserting  him — "  in 

those  Indian  courts  they  get  very  singular  habits." 

'  Very,"  said  Major  Pendennis,  drily,  and  wondering 


PENDENNIS  615 

what  in  goodness'  name  was  the  company  into  which  he 
had  got. 

Mr.  Foker  was  pleased  with  the  new  comer.  "  It's 
the  man  who  would  sing  the  Malay  song  at  the  Back 
Kitchen,"  he  whispered  to  Pen.  '  Try  this  pine,  sir," 
he  then  said  to  Colonel  Altamont,  "  it's  uncommonly 
fine." 

"  Pines — I've  seen  'em  feed  pigs  on  pines,"  said  the 
Colonel. 

"  All  the  Nawaub  of  Lucknow's  pigs  are  fed  on 
pines,"  Strong  whispered  to  Major  Pendennis. 

"  O,  of  course,"  the  Major  answered.  Sir  Francis 
Clavering  was,  in  the  meanwhile,  endeavouring  to  make 
an  excuse  to  his  brother  guest,  for  the  new  comer's  con- 
dition, and  muttered  something  regarding  Altamont, 
that  he  was  an  extraordinary  character,  very  eccentric, 
very— had  Indian  habits— didn't  understand  the  rules  of 
English  society;  to  which  old  Welbore,  a  shrewd  old 
gentleman,  who  drank  his  wine  with  great  regularity, 
said,  "  that  seemed  pretty  clear." 

Then,  the  Colonel  seeing  Pen's  honest  face,  regarded 
it  for  a  while  with  as  much  steadiness  as  became  his 
condition;  and  said,  "  I  know  you,  too,  young  fellow.  I 
remember  you.  Baymouth  ball,  by  jingo.  Wanted  to 
fight  the  Frenchman.  I  remember  you ; "  and  he 
laughed,  and  he  squared  with  his  fists,  and  seemed 
hugely  amused  in  the  drunken  depths  of  his  mind,  as 
these  recollections  passed,  or,  rather,  reeled  across  it. 

"  Mr.  Pendennis,  you  remember  Colonel  Altamont, 
at  Baymouth?  "  Strong  said:  upon  which  Pen,  bowing 
rather  stiffly,  said,  "  he  had  the  pleasure  of  remembering 
that  circumstance  perfectly." 

"What's  his  name?"  cried  the  Colonel.  Strong 
named  Mr.  Pendennis  again. 


610  PENDENNIS 

"  Pendennis! — Pendennis  be  hanged  1"  Altamont 
roared  out  to  the  surprise  of  every  one,  and  thumping 
with  his  fist  on  the  table. 

"  My  name  is  also  Pendennis,  sir,"  said  the  Major, 
whose  dignity  was  exceedingly  mortified  by  the  even- 
ing's events — that  he,  Major  Pendennis,  should  have 
been  asked  to  such  a  party,  and  that  a  drunken  man 
should  have  been  introduced  to  it.  "  My  name  is  Pen- 
dennis, and  I  will  be  obliged  to  you  not  to  curse  it  too 
loudly." 

The  tipsy  man  turned  round  to  look  at  him,  and  as  he 
looked,  it  appeared  as  if  Colonel  Altamont  suddenly 
grew  sober.  He  put  his  hand  across  his  forehead,  and 
in  doing  so,  displaced  somewhat  the  black  wig  which  he 
wore;  and  his  eyes  stared  fiercely  at  the  Major,  who,  in 
his  turn,  like  a  resolute  old  warrior  as  he  was,  looked  at 
his  opponent  very  keenly  and  steadily.  At  the  end  of 
the  mutual  inspection,  Altamont  began  to  button  up  his 
brass-buttoned  coat,  and  rising  up  from  his  chair,  sud- 
denly, and  to  the  company's  astonishment,  reeled  to- 
wards the  door,  and  issued  from  it,  followed  by  Strong: 
all  that  the  latter  heard  him  utter  was — "  Captain  Beak! 
Captain  Beak,  by  jingo!  " 

There  had  not  passed  above  a  quarter  of  an  hour  from 
his  strange  appearance  to  his  equally  sudden  departure. 
The  two  young  men  and  the  Baronet's  other  guest  won- 
dered at  the  scene,  and  could  find  no  explanation  for  it. 
Clavering  seemed  exceedingly  pale  and  agitated,  and 
turned  with  looks  of  almost  terror  towards  Major  Pen- 
dennis. The  latter  had  been  eyeing  his  host  keenly  for 
a  minute  or  two.  "  Do  you  know  him? "  asked  Sir 
Francis  of  the  Major. 

"  I  am  sure  I  have  seen  the  fellow,"  the  Major  replied, 
looking  as  if  he,  too,  was  puzzled.  "  Yes,  I  have  it.  He 


PENDENNIS  617 

was  a  deserter  from  the  Horse  Artillery,  who  got  into 
the  Nawaub's  service.  I  remember  his  face  quite  well." 

"Oh!"  said  Clavering,  with  a  sigh  which  indicated 
immense  relief  of  mind,  and  the  Major  looked  at  him 
with  a  twinkle  of  his  sharp  old  eyes.  The  cab  which 
Strong  had  desired  to  be  called,  drove  away  with  the 
Chevalier  and  Colonel  Altamont ;  coffee  was  brought  to 
the  remaining  gentlemen,  and  they  went  up  stairs  to 
the  ladies  in  the  drawing-room,  Foker  declaring  con- 
fidentially to  Pen  that  "  this  was  the  rummest  go  he  ever 
saw,"  which  decision,  Pen  said,  laughing,  "  showed  great 
discrimination  on  Mr.  Foker's  part." 

Then,  according  to  her  promise,  Miss  Amory  made 
music  for  the  young  men.  Foker  was  enraptured  with 
her  performance,  and  kindly  joined  in  the  airs  which 
she  sang,  when  he  happened  to  be  acquainted  with  them. 
Pen  affected  to  talk  aside  with  others  of  the  party,  but 
Blanche  brought  him  quickly  to  the  piano,  by  singing 
some  of  his  own  words,  those  which  we  have  given  in  a 
previous  number,  indeed,  and  which  the  Sylphide  had 
herself,  she  said,  set  to  music.  I  don't  know  whether  the 
air  was  hers,  or  how  much  of  it  was  arranged  for  her  by 
Signer  Twankidillo,  from  whom  she  took  lessons:  but 
good  or  bad,  original  or  otherwise,  it  delighted  Mr.  Pen, 
who  remained  by  her  side,  and  turned  the  leaves  now  for 
her  most  assiduously — "  Gad !  how  I  wish  I  could  write 
verses  like  you,  Pen,"  Foker  sighed  afterwards  to  his 
companion.  "  If  I  could  do  'em,  wouldn't  I,  that's  all? 
But  I  never  was  a  dab  at  writing,  you  see,  and  I'm  sorry 
I  was  so  idle  when  I  was  at  school." 

No  mention  was  made  before  the  ladies  of  the  curious 
little  scene  which  had  been  transacted  below  stairs;  al- 
though Pen  was  just  on  the  point  of  describing  it  to 


618  PENDENNIS 

Miss  Amory,  when  that  young  lady  enquired  for  Cap- 
tain Strong,  who  she  wished  should  join  her  in  a  duet. 
But  chancing  to  look  up  towards  Sir  Francis  Clavering, 
Arthur  saw  a  peculiar  expression  of  alarm  in  the  baro- 
net's ordinarily  vacuous  face,  and  discreetly  held  his 
tongue.  It  was  rather  a  dull  evening.  Welbore  went 
to  sleep,  as  he  always  did  at  music  and  after  dinner:  nor 
did  Major  Pendennis  entertain  the  ladies  with  copious 
anecdotes  and  endless  little  scandalous  stories,  as  his 
wont  was,  but  sate  silent  for  the  most  part,  and  appeared 
to  be  listening  to  the  music,  and  watching  the  fair  young 
performer. 

The  hour  of  departure  having  arrived,  the  Major 
rose,  regretting  that  so  delightful  an  evening  m  should 
have  passed  away  so  quickly,  and  addressed  a  particu- 
larly fine  compliment  to  Miss  Amory,  upon  her  splendid 
talents  as  a  singer.  '  Your  daughter,  Lady  Clavering," 
he  said  to  that  lady,  "  is  a  perfect  nightingale — a  perfect 
nightingale,  begad!  I  have  scarcely  ever  heard  any- 
thing equal  to  her,  and  her  pronunciation  of  every  lan- 
guage— begad,  of  every  language — seems  to  me  to  be 
perfect ;  and  the  best  houses  in  London  must  open  before 
a  young  lady  who  has  such  talents,  and,  allow  an  old 
fellow  to  say,  Miss  Amory,  such  a  face." 

Blanche  was  as  much  astonished  by  these  compliments 
as  Pen  was,  to  whom  his  uncle,  a  little  time  since,  had 
been  speaking  in  very  disparaging  terms  of  the  Sylph. 
The  Major  and  the  two  young  men  walked  home  to- 
gether, after  Mr..  Foker  had  placed  his  mother  in  her 
carriage,  and  procured  a  light  for  an  enormous  cigar. 

The  young  gentleman's  company  or  his  tobacco  did 
not  appear  to  be  agreeable  to  Major  Pendennis,  who 
eyed  him  askance  several  times,  and  with  a  look  which 


PENDENNIS  619 

plainly  indicated  that  he  wished  Mr.  Foker  would  take 
his  leave ;  but  Foker  hung  on  resolutely  to  the  uncle  and 
nephew,  even  until  they  came  to  the  former's  door  in 
Bury  Street,  where  the  Major  wished  the  lads  good 
night. 

"  And  I  say,  Pen,"  he  said  in  a  confidential  whisper, 
calling  his  nephew  back,  "  mind  you  make  a  point  of 
calling  in  Grosvenor  Place  to-morrow.  They've  been 
uncommonly  civil;  mons'ously  civil  and  kind." 

Pen  promised  and  wondered,  and  the  Major's  door 
having  been  closed  upon  him  by  Morgan,  Foker  took 
Pen's  arm,  and  walked  with  him  for  some  time  silently 
puffing  his  cigar.  At  last,  when  they  had  reached  Char- 
ing Cross  on  Arthur's  way  home  to  the  Temple,  Harry 
Foker  relieved  himself,  and  broke  out  with  that  eulo- 
gium  upon  poetry,  and  those  regrets  regarding  a  mis- 
spent youth,  which  have  just  been  mentioned.  And  all 
the  way  along  the  Strand,  and  up  to  the  door  of  Pen's 
very  staircase,  in  Lamb  Court,  Temple,  young  Harry 
Foker  did  not  cease  to  speak  about  singing  and  Blanche 
Amory. 


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